A Single Thornless Red Rose
by simsala
Summary: Fate had refused to let John and Margaret meet at the station. Both had moved on, both had buried their memories in oblivion, both were looking for new horizons - until a letter seemed to appear from nowhere, from days long gone and almost forgotten, turning the twist of their lives again…
1. Chapter 1

**This story is mainly BBC-based. It starts about half a year after the end of the story as set by the series. I have taken the liberty to modify the BBC storyline slightly, whereas the ending has been changed completely: Margaret and John have not met at the station; so this gives my story an entirely different turn of events. I hope you will like it, nonetheless.**

**Needless to mention that I do not own anything of the Gaskell book or the BBC series, or any of the characters, except the OCs. **

**I should mention that in my story I see Miss Hale as lovely and Mr. Thornton as handsome as portrayed in the series.**

**So, if I may invite you now to start reading and reviewing, if you like.**

* * *

**Chapter 1: In The Black Again**

"Have the debts been cleared, John?"

„Yes, mother, everything has been settled. The mill is going full speed, plenty of orders are coming in. We are in the black again. You do not have to worry for our future."

Hannah Thornton exhaled deeply as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. "I am relieved, John, all your hard work was not in vain. Thank God."

As usually in the evenings John sat at the small table near the window of the drawing-room, reading the evening papers, sipping at his brandy from time to time. He had taken off his heavy frock coat to feel more comfortable. A cigar lay on top of the box for later when his mother would have retired. She did not like the smoke smell; as a matter of courtesy, he, therefore, always waited until she left for the night.

He raised his head to take a brief look at her. Knowing her so well, after having lived his entire life at her side, he sensed that there was another issue burning. Usually she would come to the point straightforward, but this time she was hesitant. So he asked her point-blank, "Mother, is there anything else?"

She was taken aback by his directness, but then decided to go into it, "I have seen the Latimers today, by chance." She felt uncomfortable, it was evident.

"I had to do some errands in town and ran into them, as I said, by chance," she hesitated briefly before continuing, "That means Mr. Latimer and his daughter, to be exact. She is back again, John. I have told you that she had been staying with some relatives in Cornwall, haven't I?"

John nodded, kept reading the paper, but listened carefully, his nerves slightly strained.

"She is such a mannerly young woman, John. I am surprised that she has not found her match yet." She busied herself with the embroidery again, pensively.

John was on the alert at once, as always when his mother was steering a conversation to that sensitive issue of marriage. Obviously she had not yet abandoned her aim to pair her son off to the rich and decent daughter of his banker.

"Mother, I think I have made it clear already, I have no interest in Miss Latimer. Please grasp that," and after a short pause, his voice almost a plea, "Please respect that."

He leaned back, assuming the matter as settled.

Yet, his mother was insisting, "John, you have never given her a chance. You have never tried to get to know her better."

John inhaled deeply, held his breath for a moment and exhaled slowly in order to calm himself. He then replied, his tone rougher than usual, "No, mother, I haven't. I repeat: I have no interest in her." There was a tremor in his voice indicating that his temper was rising. He was annoyed having to defend his opinion time and again.

His mother was not prepared to drop the subject, though. She concentrated again on her needlework, at least she was pretending, while John applied himself to the paper.

After a while she carried on, "Anyway, I have invited the Latimers for tea on Sunday. I trust you will have the courtesy to attend as well." She looked up from the linen that she was working on, waiting for his confirmation.

Again he breathed heavily. Trying to balance his temper and to appear poised, he finally murmured, "I'll try, mother."

Having hoped for more enthusiasm on his part, her disappointment showed on her face. Just when she was about to comment on that snub answer, he folded the newspaper with a rustling sound, took the cigar and the cutter in his hand, indicating his intention to have a smoke. She understood quite well and raised immediately, a bit offended, put her needle work back into her sewing basket and left, "Good night, John. I think we better talk about the matter tomorrow."

"Good night, Mother," he replied in his tensed deep voice, not being prepared to confirm her suggestion.

After she had left, he loosened his cravat and opened the upper button of his shirt, as if he was peeling off some unseen bonds. He had never understood why good manners required a man to wear a tight cravat in public, in the presence of a woman. But there were so many things that he did not understand about appropriate behavior these days. Especially since he had made acquaintance with Miss Hale and the London society circles that she was connected with. Miss Hale … – oh no, he shook his head slightly, he was not prepared to follow that train of thoughts tonight, knowing it would do him no good to dwell on those hurting memories.

He cut his cigar by one quick and strong movement and lit it carefully by means of a long cedar match.

He took another swallow of the brandy, placed the glass back on the table and drew another puff of smoke into his mouth. Blowing smoke rings up to the ceiling, he let his thoughts wander again. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in order to revive the nerves there, to keep him awake until he had finished his cigar and brandy.

Yes, all debts had been cleared, once again. He was satisfied and took pride in his success. He had to shut down the mill more than six months ago. The strike declared by his workers had caused him unexpected losses, rendered the fulfilment of orders a seemingly impossible task. He had to face the facts finally, was ruined, could not satisfy the bankers anymore. Nobody had been prepared to give a credit, at least not in the beginning of the disaster.

Later his financer Mr. Latimer, who had already been associated with his late father, had offered to take him under the umbrella of an investor who could provide for the funds to back the efforts the mill owner had to make but who had wanted to remain in the background. By aid of that money John Thornton could start anew as luckily new orders were coming in, first at a moderate extent only, but then rising constantly.

For the second time in his life, he had to start from scratch. For the second time in his life, he had succeeded. Irony sometimes crossed his mind making him wonder how often fate might put him in a situation like that again, having to start anew. He was not sure whether he could do it a third time if it was demanded from him.

His endeavors to refloat the mill made him work hard for the past six months, made him work seven days a week, often until midnight, at times until dawn, made him sometimes fall asleep over the papers he had been working on. No time had been left for himself for dwelling on personal matters, on painful memories of days and chances long gone, on hopes for a satisfying and happy future for himself; it would have detained him only. That straining way of living was now taking its toll. He was tired and worn out. His exhaustion made his nerves fray, he felt drained of strength and vitality.

Besides, the relation between him and his mother was stressed. He could not determine when that tension had commenced to rise, but it was there, was increasing even. He could not fathom whether the reason was that he had changed or his mother, probably both had.

When reconsidering all circumstances honestly, he came to the conclusion that it had all begun when he had met Miss Hale, when he had run into her the day she had paid a call on him at Marlborough Mills. Their first encounter had been most unpleasant. He had shown her a side of him that he did not know that it was existing, until then. His fury about that careless man intending to smoke in the mill and thus risking to set the whole place on fire within seconds made him react in a brutal and overbearing way. Miss Hale had been aghast the moment she had witnessed that incident and was prejudiced about the master of the mill ever since. The following encounters could not change her inner denial of him; John Thornton had tried to explain himself, the reason behind his action, but Miss Hale had apparently already built a barrier to hide behind it, to be able to refuse having to deal with him.

Only John Thornton's sprouting friendship with her late father had softened her attitude slightly, had made her tolerate his visits in their modest home in order to allow both men, tutor and student to discuss their views on a book the both had read. The awareness of his miserable and incomplete education had gnawed at him all along, had preyed at his self-worth. Because of his early duty to provide for his widowed mother and his sister, he had been forced to leave school and to work hard to rebuild their life and standing, had to ignore his thirst for knowledge in other matters. When the late Mr. Hale had come to Milton he saw his chances to catch up on his deficiency. He had started to take lessons in literature, was absorbing the newly gained knowledge like a sponge.

But after her mother and father had passed away Miss Hale had withdrawn from the mill owner, had returned to London, to live with her relatives there, to return to the haughty circles where she belonged, with whom she felt at ease, where she could live a carefree life, where she would find a husband and be treated like a lady, would be treated in a way a gentleman would. Aunt Shaw would see to it.

Miss Hale was not meant for the North and its severe people.

* * *

Early in the next morning Fanny rushed in, babbling as always, "Oh, mother, have you heard? Ann Latimer is back. Life in Milton was so boring without her. You know, she has become a good friend of mine. I have missed her so much. I only wish that John would make up his stoical mind and marry her. I think she still has an eye on him, but he is so stubborn."

When she discovered her brother standing at the window, looking over to the mill, she was taken by surprise, slightly blushing. Clearly, she had not expected him to be at home still, thought he was in the mill already.

"Good morning, Fanny," he said in a calm voice, not turning his head, though, "Please come in and join us. Mother and I are just having a discussion about Ms. Latimer. It appears indeed, that she is the talk of the town, but I would like to repeat what I have already explained to mother, and I trust that it will finally be comprehended by the pair of you: I have no interest in Ms. Latimer. And I would ask you both to refrain from weaving a web of accidental occurrences aiming at bringing us closer together. Any attempt would fail and only create embarrassing situations."

Returning to the breakfast table he put down the cup of tea that he was holding in his hand. He retrieved his pocket watch to check the time and said, "Mother, Fanny, I am late and hence have to go now. Mother, I will not come over for lunch. And do not count on me for dinner, either. I will not be home in time. So please do not take pains to wait for me."

Before Fanny had interrupted them, John and his mother had been arguing heatedly. In a sense, Hannah Thornton was grateful that Fanny had come to pay a visit, otherwise her conversation with her son might have ended in parting in anger.

"But I would be glad to wait, John," Mrs. Thornton replied after a brief pause.

Before she could carry on, he responded, determined and slightly annoyed, "No, mother, as I said, do not wait for me. I cannot reckon the time, yet," and in his mind he was continuing, _'as if I would be keen on coming home at all.'_

Then he left in haste. They both were standing at the window, frowning and speechless for a while, watching him walk over to the mill with long decisive steps.

"Dear me. There is someone out of humor, mother. I have not seen him like that in a long time. What has happened?" Fanny asked, a puzzled look on her face.

"I do not know, Fanny, honestly. He has changed. I do not know the reason, though. Maybe it is because of his working so hard to refloat the mill again. I hope that is the only cause." The last sentence did not get through to her daughter whose thoughts were already drifting into another direction.

"You know it is his own fault to have to work so hard, mother. If he had joined my Watson and his business speculation he could have laid back in his chair waiting for the money to roll in."

"Would you like to have a cup of tea, my dear?" Mrs. Thornton tried to distract her daughter from dwelling on the topic of her husband's making easy money by speculation. Sometimes Fanny could be so unmindful to broach that touchy subject, ignoring her mother's feelings when being reminded on the unfortunate circumstances that drove her late husband into bankruptcy and an early grave - and the family to ruin. But Fanny had never been sensitive enough to pay attention to that.

"No, thank you, mother, I have to go anyway. I just wanted to say 'hello' to you and bring the news of Miss Latimer's return. But apparently, you already know. I think I will call on Ann and ask her to join me for some errands." She turned, hugged her mother briefly and left.

Mrs. Thornton was deep in thought musing about the latest occurrences. She would have loved if her son were to make up his mind to marry Miss Latimer. Not only because the banker's daughter would bring in a considerable dowry, no, she was surely also docile and would fit in perfectly in her household. Hence she would lose her son only a little and keep control over everything.

But John had commenced to withdraw, was apparently no longer willing to confide in her. That had made her worry of late. She was not aware of what was going on in the mill, what his business was about, what he was doing whenever he was not at home in the evenings, what he was brooding about when he was, like the night before. She had lost the thread that had always been binding them. And she did not know how or when that had happened.

Guilt-ridden in the beginning, she had started some time ago to secretly search through the drawers in his room, through his personal belongings, had checked the pockets of his clothes, but could not find anything that was suspicious in her eyes. Except a dried yellow flower that she had found in his book of Plato that Miss Hale had left for John in memory of her late father. To Mrs. Thornton it was only an old and worn out book but to her son it was apparently important enough to have it placed on his bedside locker. The dried flower was so out of the ordinary that she had been on the alert at once. A sudden impulse had tempted her to crush it and throw it away but in the last moment she could refrain from such a rash action. She was not aware where that flower had come from and what it meant but it had made her anxious. She tried to calm her frayed nerves by pretending that the flower had already been in that book before, had no meaning for her son. But then again the doubts prevailed and left her in an unsettled state of mind. He had never concealed anything from her but now he obviously did. She was not able to pull the strings any longer, he had stripped them off. She was most concerned.

After Fanny had left, she sat down again, took her sewing basket and placed it on the table. Reluctantly she continued with the embroidery but was not fully concentrated. Annoyingly, she did some faulty stitches. So she decided to cease her needlework and look for a distraction. Instead of busying herself at home, she headed to town to run some errands, now that the financial situation was no longer precarious, and now that she had to prepare a Sunday afternoon tea time for the Latimers, intending to impress them.


	2. Chapter 2: A Random Acquaintance

**Chapter 2 : A Random Acquaintance**

On Sunday, short after lunchtime John Thornton sat at his desk in the mill's office sorting out the stacks of documents neatly piled on a side table and classified as being of minor importance at the time of receipt. They had lain there unattended for the last six months, most of them could now be filed away.

Finally he reached the bottom stack and was aghast to retrieve an envelope addressed to _Mr. John Thornton – Personal and Confidential - Marlborough Mills - Milton, _ written in a well-known calligraphy, there was no nicer handwriting than Miss Hale's. He could not remember having ever seen that envelope before, it must have found its way between the stacks by accident, apparently a while ago as it lay deep down amongst the older papers.

For a couple of minutes he held that envelope staring at the impeccable writing, before he realized that his fingers were trembling. Finally he put the letter down on the table, placing his elbows on top of the remaining documents, propping his chin on his clasped hands, pensively. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Again he let his mind wander to Miss Hale as so often lately, recalling her beauty and enchanting nature. There had always been a touch of sadness and despair in her appearance, combined with a small trace of uncertainty or anxiety, as if being out of place in her own life. And indeed she was; she had to live in - as she had put it once - reduced financial circumstances. Life in Milton was below her standard and she could not blend in to that challenging and demanding lifestyle, easily. Yet, she had tried to adjust so bravely despite all the sorrows that had haunted her because of her mother's sickness, because of the hardships that were reigning her life in Milton. Nonetheless, she was keeping up her social graces and personal interactions, was so open in a caring and loveable way, was focused on everybody around her, except him.

Their first encounter at his mill had ended in a disaster. The occasions that followed did not help to redeem himself in her eyes. Despite his sense of unworthiness and deficiency he had felt compelled to propose to her because of that incident surrounding the strike when she had stood up for him. But by refusing his proposal so bluntly, in an unfeeling way that he had not expected from her, she had made it clear what she was thinking of him, made him feel low and ignoble; his passion for her was illicit, indecent at least. As a consequence he had decided to withdraw from any relation he thought they were having.

He had still been seeing her father, though, mostly in the Hales' home, but he had tried to avoid her, and had gained the impression that she had been doing the same.

Then, when she had left Milton, after her father had passed away, he had believed to be finally able to distance himself, to come to a close, at last. But that had been a false hope as he had to realize now.

For six months his mind was set on preventing the total ruin of his mill, he had not allowed himself any scope for personal concerns or an ardent passion, but his treacherous heart had never stopped craving for her in secrecy, was blurting the truth out now.

He had ignored his desire for her constantly, hoping that time would help to bury her in oblivion.

When he would look back on his life as an old man, alone and withered, he would remember her as someone whom he had known once but who had left no lasting impact, had been a random acquaintance only, was not worth to be mentioned or recalled at all.

That was what he had hoped to achieve but holding her envelope in his trembling hands simply made his wish collapse like a house of cards. She would never be a mere acquaintance, a relic of days long gone, instead, she would always be the one who had disarranged his well-regulated life, had made his heart bleed, had scarred his soul.

Toying with the idea of looking back on his life from old age, he wondered how people would classify him, would evaluate what he had achieved. He came to the conclusion that they would probably remember him as the man who had lifted himself from poverty, had worked hard to maintain Marlborough Mills to make it thrive and prosper, had gathered riches and power, but who had forgotten to live. Wallowing in self-pity he imagined himself as an eccentric and ungenerous lonely old man filled with bitterness like _Ebenezer Scrooge_ of that Charles Dickens' story he had read a while ago.

An unimportant letter from someone whom he had known once, had deranged him fundamentally. He lifted the envelope again and was surprised to recognize the faint scent of Miss Hale's perfume still lingering on. It was addressed to him personally at Marlborough Mills, but it was not stamped, must have been delivered by a messenger. He wondered why it had not reached him back then.

He was pondering the question whether to open it now, or maybe later or possibly never. For the time being he carefully secured the letter in an inner pocket of his frock coat and then tried to concentrate on working on the remaining papers. Before tea time, before the Latimers would arrive, he intended to have that stack finished.

But again his thoughts were running astray.

Did he want to become an old man filled with bitterness and emotional emptiness? He denied that. Recalling that not long ago, he had been dreaming of conquering the best, but had failed entirely, he now considered whether a second best would do to complete his life, to enter into a marriage of convenience. If he was fortunate, emotion would grow over the years. If not, he would lead a marriage like so many others, functional to maintain the façade, but deprived of true feelings and passion. He shivered with disgust.

When he entered the living room, the Latimers were already there, seated at a small table which had been decorated nicely. Apparently his mother had spent some newly available money to bring back the former brightness to their home.

His mother gave him a pointedly reproachful glance. Clearly she had expected him to be there on time. But on second thought she was relieved that he had come at all.

In his deep baritone voice he welcomed his banker, "Good to see you again, Latimer, for once for a non-business occasion. I wish we could meet more often," and after a brief pause while giving his mother a side look, he continued, "I am sorry for being late. I had been working in the office, had to clear the backlog of uncompleted papers. Time was passing too quickly." He looked at his quests with a winning smile.

Mr. Latimer rose immediately, shook hands with Mr. Thornton and replied, "Thank you for the kind invitation. You are right, we should try to meet more often beyond business. Do not worry for the lateness. I fully understand your reasons."

Then John Thornton turned to Ms. Latimer, shook hands with her as well and said politely, "Miss Latimer, I am pleased to see you again. I have heard you have spent some time in Cornwall. I must say the southern climate has done you good."

His velvety and gentle voice made her blush before she replied, "Thank you, Mr. Thornton." Embarrassed she looked down and clasped her hands again. Apparently she did not intend to say anything else.

"Did you see much of the lovely countryside, there, Miss Latimer?" he inquired, his eyes still roaming her features discretely.

"Yes, I did, Mr. Thornton," she answered politely.

"And, where have you been exactly, if I may ask?"

"In Mullion, Mr. Thornton."

She was in fact a very handsome young lady, dressed elegantly. She had a good taste, displaying great attention to detail. The sun rays that entered through the window reflected on her blond hair, the light danced on it in countless changing facets. Indeed, she was beautiful. He had never recognized that loveliness in her features before.

But by her disturbingly short answers she did not succeed in holding his interest any longer, her simple replies to his questions were straining his nerves. His attempt to open a door for a conversation had failed utterly, yet he tried hard not to show his annoyance.

The dull conversation was dragging through the afternoon, was in no way enjoyable but boring to the core; John Thornton refrained from contributing to it substantially but let his mind wander, a fitful comment from his part once in a while was sufficient. Nonetheless he observed Ms. Latimer secretly from time to time.

In fact, he was recalling the fruitful conversations he used to have with the late Mr. Hale, discussing their views on books both had read. At times they had come to different conclusions. While arguing once, Mr. Hale had mentioned that his daughter – there she was again - had yet another view on a certain issue, had literally offered a third opinion. Unlike many others of her peers she was a woman of vast reading which had impressed him when he had found out. He wondered what kind of reader Ms. Latimer was, whether she was at all.

So, he decided to participate in the conversation again and redirected it to Ms. Latimer's stay in Cornwall. Casually he asked her, "When staying in Cornwall for so long you must have found the time to read, Miss Latimer. I wonder what kind of books you are interested in."

The question unsettled her visibly. Mr. Thornton regretted instantly to have forced her into such dilemma.

Rather embarrassed she replied, "I do not read a lot, Mr. Thornton, I prefer embroidery."

And in his mind he continued her unspoken words, … _and then there are some magazines that I like to look at. But if you mean books, real books, I am afraid I cannot name you any, except some household guides and the holy bible, of course.' _

A faint smile rushed over his face.

When he was alone in his room in the evening he was reflecting over Ms. Latimer. No doubt, she was beautiful. But would she be a second best? Someone he could share his life with? Clearly not. She was attractive, had style and good manners, was surely well-educated, had surely learnt to run a household, would surely play a satisfying role at the side of a man of standing, no doubt about that, either. But she would surely not find a way into his heart, he clearly saw that as well.

With her short answers she had already succeeded in annoying him. Apparently her thirst for knowledge had been satisfied a while ago, a natural curiosity had not had a chance to blossom or had been erased at younger ages; she had been taught what life would require from her and was only waiting to have her skills implemented at the side of a suitable husband, to play the role that her family and society had chosen for her. Surely she was a perfect match for so many men who were exactly looking for someone like her, for a woman who was prepared to walk the line.

He had no doubt that one day she would find her match, would be a suitable wife, give birth to a handful of children and die a happy woman, having lived without doubt and challenge, fulfilling her duties, but without having been alive before dying. What a wasted life! But a merciful fate had obviously provided for her not to see that.

But who was he to judge? Probably nobody would guess what his secret and unspoken thoughts were about, where his wishes and longing for life were straying in moments like these. Perhaps, she did the same, was vivid behind the façade. Would he ever be interested to find out?

For the time being, he would focus on his own curiosity for life, his thirst for knowledge outside the walls that business had built around him, making him think in buying and selling terms, of profit and loss, of advantage and disadvantage, of decimal places. He was proud of his achievements, no doubt, but there was a life beyond those walls, beyond trade and business and fulfillment of duties. There was a life before dying.

He still had not opened Miss Hale's letter but was taking it with him wherever he was. It had become some kind of charm, some kind of key that had opened the walls around him. But he was not sure whether he would ever want to read the words that she had dedicated to him.

It might be that she had informed him of her forthcoming wedding with that Mr. Lennox - as if he was curious to learn about that. Or maybe she had wanted to inform him that she had even found a better match. He was not interested in that, either.

Or maybe she wantedd to bring to his attention that she was leaving England for good. He was, meanwhile, aware that the man at the station whom she had embraced so warmly was not a lover but her brother who was living in Spain, now. Maybe she had left to stay there, forever.

Higgins had told him once the truth about her brother; instead of being relieved that she had not fallen so low as he had suspected once, John could not overcome a pang of anger and a stabbing pain because she had confided in one of his hands, had not deemed him worthy to be aware of that secret. Maybe she had acted thus to show him her aversion towards him, the northern social climber who he was in her eyes, someone who had no education and manners, was nothing in her eyes, nothing more, nothing less.

Especially when she had inherited Mr. Bell's assets and properties, including Marlborough Mills and the Thornton House, her social standing had been uplifted considerably, while he was standing in deep water, while he was struggling to survive. Her riches had made her reach higher in society than she had ever been before, had made her an independent woman who was able to return to the society circles she had been used to before.

In any case, notwithstanding her conduct, her opinions, her attitude towards him, she had returned to sprawl in his mind throughout the days and to haunt his dreams at night, had anchored in his heart, would not allow anybody else to enter.

His passion for her might have been foolish but it was not over at all.


	3. Chapter 3: A Housewarming Party

**Chapter 3: A Housewarming Party**

"Oh, mother, it will be the event of the year in Milton. My Watson and I will be throwing a big housewarming party. It will be outstanding and spectacular. You must help me prepare everything to ensure its success. Pray you will."

As usually in the afternoon, Mrs. Thornton was sitting in the drawing room. She busied herself doing some of her needlework, letting her mind drift away until Fanny stormed in, all excited. In passing, she checked on the furniture and accessories in that room, wondering whether there was anything after her fancy that she could borrow for the party.

"I do not know what kind of dress I should be wearing. Of course, I do not want to outshine the house, but then again I would like to. I think I have to buy some magazines first to check on the latest fashion in London or Paris. Oh, mother, I am so excited. I think John should buy you a new dress as well in order to make you presentable."

Mrs. Thornton felt hurt by her daughter's critisism, in her view it was entirely unjust. All her dresses were impeccable, not the latest style, that was true, but for an event like Fanny's housewarming party any of her better evening gowns would do. Her frugal nature clearly forbade such unnecessary expenditure. She flashed her daughter a disapproving glance.

"We have quite a number of stores here in Milton where they sell patterns and dress materials, Fanny, we are not in need of those expensive and gushy things they have in London, or elsewhere." Once more her hint did not get through to Fanny, as always when housewifely issues were at stake.

"There are so many things I still have to do, mother, planning the dinner, the guest list, the seating arrangements, the flower decoration, not to forget the invitations. Oh there is so much work and I do not know where to start. I trust you will help me, mother, you'll do that for me, won't you? I beg you."

"Of course, Fanny, if you want my advice and assistance, I would be glad to provide support. It goes without saying, my dear."

Fanny kissed her mother's cheek and was gone.

Mrs. Thornton was absorbed in thought after her daughter had left. An occasion like a housewarming party was exactly fitting into her schemes. It would surely provide for many chances to pull the strings again, to invite some families with nubile daughters, now that her son was apparently not fond of considering a marriage with Ann Latimer.

The weeks that followed kept Mrs. Thornton and her daughter busy with all kinds of preparations. Fanny was happy to have her mother at her side; soon she had realized that she would not have been able to accomplish the tasks on her own.

Mrs. Thornton was too occupied to notice that her son was retreating into his own shell, was brooding more than he had already done before and retired early in the evenings, if he was at home, at all, which was rare enough.

More often than not he spent his time in the club where he could find peace and calmness, where he could read in silence or let his mind roam without sensing suspicious eyes on him.

The tense relationship with his mother had not waned; when he was at home it was evident that she was watching him, as it appeared in all secrecy though. But she was not able to conceal her doing entirely; he noticed. He did not fathom whether she was covering her attempts poorly, unable to do better or whether she did it with intent, wanting to reveal her deliberateness.

Time spun away and finally the day of the big event had come. Mrs. Thornton had been staying overnight at the Watson House to be available for Fanny and to give the last instructions.

The Milton society arrived on schedule precisely, being in high spirits and looking forward to the party, for most of them it was the first time they were able to catch a glimpse at the Watsons' new house, at the interior of the rooms. As expected by most of them the furniture and decorations were overloaded and pretentious rather than tasteful.

Before the dinner itself was being served, during the reception, the guests had casually gathered in groups losing themselves in small talk, conversing about unimportant and uncontroversal matters, sipping champagne out of cut glasses that must have cost a fortune. Seemingly, they were all in high spirits.

Much to his mother's dislike John Thornton did not pay any attention to the groups where some of the young ladies were gabbling, while attempting to appear well-mannered and polite. He seemed to be deep in discussion with other tradesmen and bankers, he seemed to miss the ladies' efforts.

The handsome manufacturer was a bachelor that the fairer sex was chasing after, cautiously though, trying to follow the rules of etiquette. The nubile young women were chatting, giggling in a bashful manner, while observing Mr. Thornton secretly. Most of them were pretty in appearance and all were dressed up to the nines, their cheeks were glowing in excitement as they were trying to draw his attention, decently though, but much to their regret also in vain. He did not seem to notice or care as he was standing there amongst his peers, taller than any of them, likeable and amusing, charismatic as always, a bit arrogant, also.

When the guests took their places for the dinner, John Thornton was annoyed to find himself seated between two young ladies, both beautiful and suitable for marriage, both beaming in excitement. John Thornton felt embarrassed by the situation which was crowned by Ms. Latimer sitting opposite to him, smiling bashfully. Luckily his mother and his sister were sitting far enough, but they would not escape his reproaches later.

After dinner, while the ladies had retreated to the drawing room to have their tea, gossiping about the latest society news, the men remained in the dining room to have their brandy and cigar, discussing the latest trade news and politics. John Thornton was again the center of attention due to his successful refloating of the mill. Though the other mill owners as well had to struggle for the past six months due to strike-caused losses they had been fortunate to be able to fall back on their accrued reserves, had not suffered to the same extent.

"So, I hear your mill is on the safe side again, Thornton?" Fanny's husband and host of the party was lighting his cigar and squinting his eyes at his brother in law.

Mr. Watson was still incensed about the fact that John Thornton had rejected his offer to join in his scheme of speculation more than half a year ago, a fact that had cost him some customers who had backed out because a well-respected tradesman as the owner of Marlborough Mills, and moreover being family, had not partaken in that business. Mr. Watson's resentment was only appeased by the high profit that he had made at that time.

"Yes, Watson, it is doing well again, as, fortunately, an investor could be found who had trust and faith in the mill, and luckily, the customers are returning." John Thornton replied dryly. It was obvious that they were not the best of friends.

"But apparently your silent and secret investor had gained the money that saved you, from my scheme of speculation. What do you think of that, Thornton?"

For a brief moment John Thornton was speechless. "And how would you know?" he inquired, glancing secretly at Mr. Latimer who was also on the alert at once.

"Trade secrets, my friend, trade secrets." Watson sneered at the mill owner, savouring his cigar.

John Thornton was aghast. Narrowing his eyes he watched Fanny's husband as a thought crossed his mind. He would follow up his sneaking suspicion later.

After that verbal exchange John Thornton took Mr. Latimer discretely aside to question him about the investor, especially why Mr. Watson was supposedly aware of him, and even more, why he was suspecting that the money that had saved him was coming from speculation. His banker could not answer the question and reassured him that Mr. Watson must have been guessing only. He had not relayed any information to him or anybody else. Upon request of that investor he was honour-bound to keep the name covered.

When the guests had left finally, John Thornton was lingering on to have a word with his sister.

"So, your party has to be considered the event of the year. Congratulations for that, Fanny."

She was flattered by that compliment that came as a surprise since her brother was usually reluctant to praise her for any of her doings. "Oh, thank you, John. I have never thought to hear anything like that from you. I should take a note in my diary." Fanny was grinning broadly.

A devilish idea crossed her brother's mind. He dismissed that thought a second later, as it would have been too malicious. But then fate distributed the cards anew and sent him back to that direction. His mother entered the room asking him whether he would be kind enough to go and fetch her suitcase which was still upstairs in Fanny's room.

With a hoarsely whispered "Of course, mother." he was already on his way. It did not take long and he had retrieved the diary. Quickly he was going through the pages as from the date of Ms. Latimer's return to Milton, and, indeed, there was a note reading,

_'__Oh, I do not believe that. Ann had been able to search through her father's most secret papers and had found out that a certain HM is the mysterious investor and that the money is in fact coming from a speculation that my Watson had initiated. My brother and speculation money, it is hilarious! But I cannot tell mother_.'

So that was the proof he had been looking for; instantly he felt remorse about his snooping around but then he pushed that thought aside. Before returning the diary he was flipping through the pages and all of a sudden found something about _that woman. _He remembered that his mother had used to call Miss Hale _that woman _in a dismissive tone. He stopped and read what his sister had written down.

'_Mother told me that snooty Miss Hale had the nerve to show up at the mill to sneak around and have a look at her newly gained assets, haughtily and arrogantly as ever. That woman wanted to talk to John, but luckily he was not there, was in London to seek for an investor. Later that insufferable woman had returned depositing a letter for John….." _

"John, have you found the suit case?" his mother was apparently getting impatient. He quickly returned the diary, took the suitcase and went downstairs, angered. His self-control was put to a crucial test. He had been hoodwinked by the two women for whom he had struggled to provide for their living for all those years. He was sad, he was disappointed, he was furious.

"I'm coming, mother, it is time to leave." His voice hoarse and icy. His good byes to his sister were rather short and cool, Mr. Watson did not even consider it necessary to show up.

On their way back John was silent. Mrs. Thornton felt his annoyance, he did not try to hide it. Knowing him she considered it wise not to ask any questions. She had learnt that it was senseless to insist in a case he was brooding like this.

When they were at home again, John retired to his room at once. His mother had hoped, though, that he would open to her, would tell her the reason for his change of mood.

John Thornton still felt uncomfortable about having spied on Fanny, having read the entries in her diary, had disrespected her privacy so bluntly, but obviously he had not been the only one. Otherwise he could not explain Watson's knowledge of that mysterious investor.

Anxiously, he paced up and down his chamber trying to arrange his ideas, struggling to gain insight into what he had found out tonight, struggling to balance his temper which was rising as he felt betrayed by his mother and sister.

Finally, he sat down on his bed and pressed his right hand against his chest, where his heart was beating erratically. Pensively, he closed his eyes for a short while, rubbing the bridge of his nose and exhaling deeply. When he had calmed, he retrieved Miss Hale's letter that he had kept in that inner pocket of his coat. He opened it slowly with trembling fingers and read it, concerned, in a state of trance.

_"__Mr. Thornton,_

_My sudden resolve to call on you has regretfully not been successful. You were not there and I am afraid your mother had misunderstood the intention of my visit. I did not mean to be impolite or haughty. Apparently her worries about you had made her treat me, as I may say, unfair, at least. The reason for my visit was never to look down on her or you, I never came to indulge in my new riches or crow over your misfortune, as she had put it. I know she loves you very much and she will always defend you like a lioness but she does not have the right to tear me apart like she tried to. The reason for my call on you was to make a business proposition. Your mother will have told you that my Godfather the late Mr. Bell has left me a considerable legacy. I have not expected anything like that and I am presently arranging my affairs. As your mother could not tell me when you will be back I will now return to London, I cannot postpone that, unfortunately. Mr. Lennox is pressing me to leave as he has already fixed meetings for the morrow._

_Mr. Thornton, please contact me as soon as you have returned. It is important. _

_Respectfully,_

_Margaret Hale"_

John Thornton read the letter twice, lost in incoherent thoughts.

So she had come back to Milton to pay him a visit, so she had written a letter of particular importance.

Could it be that she was more than a mere acquaintance?

He folded the letter neatly, sheathed it in the envelope and secured it in the inner pocket of his coat, where he had kept it all the time and where he intended to keep it henceforth, close to his heart. His mood had soften in that moment which however, did not last for long.

His rage made him almost storm down to his mother to chide her for having refrained from telling him of Miss Hale's call, for having refrained from handing out the letter. Anyway, it was too late now to turn back time, though he wished he could.

He decided to hold his fire and detain his intention to talk things out until the next days.


	4. Chapter 4: High Flying, Adored

**A/N:**

**Now that we have learnt how John is doing, it is high time to catch up with Margaret, to see what had happened to her after she had left Milton...**

* * *

_**Chapter 4: High Flying, Adored**_

_After her father's death, Margaret Hale had returned to London, to live with the Shaws in their house in Harley Street._

_She had to resume her old life as companion of her rich and married cousin Edith who - as a matter of convenience - was living in her mother's house along with her first child Scholto and her husband Maxwell._

_Margaret had often worried about the opportunities life would hold in store for her, whether she would be offered any chances at all or whether she had to swallow what life would choose to throw at her. She might become some kind of governess in the Shaws' household or elsewhere, or she might be married off to someone who was prepared to wed her without any dowry. Altogether her future did not appear to be promising._

_Being back in the Shaw House as Edith's companion made her old feelings of inferiority sprout again. Her cousin was still the glamorous young lady who had found her match meanwhile, was leading a splendid life in the limelight with her charming husband in his impressive uniform. Margaret, however, saw herself as the ugly duckling, only that in her view, she would never turn into a beautiful swan. She doubted her self-worth and attractiveness more than ever._

_Then, one day, she had been informed that her godfather, Mr. Bell, had passed away. Though it was known that he was ill for a long time, his death came against all expectations. _

_Much to her regret she never had an intense relationship with Mr. Bell. She was not aware of the reason why her father had preferred to keep him away from his family for so long. They had been fellow students in Oxford once and had been in loose relation ever since, had exchanged letters time and again but had not been in contact personally, at least not that she was aware of. She had only met him a couple of times when he had come to Milton to call on her parents. On that occasion she had been introduced to him and she had wondered why he had scrutinized her in a somewhat peculiar way. She had learnt that he had been borne in Milton where he still had some assets, his childhood home as well as, surprisingly, Marlborough Mills and the Thornton House. He had not returned to his home town often, only for business on rare occasions. She could understand that a person like Mr. Bell with his fine and gifted mind preferred to live in a place like Oxford rather than in that bustling and smoky town of Milton._

___ By his will, Mr. Bell had bequeathed most of his properties and fortunes to Margaret, surprisingly. __She had clearly not expected to inherit such wealth making her independent for the rest of her life. _

_Now that the financial aspects of her life had been secured, she was convinced that she would not marry, at least not hastily in order to have her livelihood maintained, there was no need for that anymore. Instead she would travel, satisfy her thirst for knowledge, would use part of her wealth to provide practical support for the poor, would try to lessen the misfortune of those in need, but would also lead a life beyond love and passion, after having failed in that respect already so painfully._

_She still regretted the way she had acted so coldly and haughtily towards Mr. Thornton back then in Milton. Had declined his proposal, had found harsh words to reject him, to hurt him, even. No, he surely was not the kind of gentleman she was accustomed to from her London time but in his own way he was indeed, she had misjudged him entirely, but that had dawned on her only when it had been too late._

_Whenever they had met she was not herself, was touchy and imprudent. Most of the times when Mr. Thornton had said anything or had asked a question she had responded in a harsh and biting fashion. But she could not fathom why she had been acting like that. She had cherished the rare moments when they were alone in a room, but then her peculiar conduct and silly comments would make his temper rise, would make him leave sooner than she had expected or he might have intended. When he was gone after those encounters she had felt remorse and would have wanted to call him back but that would not have been appropriate, of course. Finally he had apparently drawn the false conclusion, had been convinced that she had judged him as inferior, had labelled him as an arrogant northern self-made man who had no education and manners who had wanted to possess her as his financial standing at that time would have allowed him to buy her like a bargain. It had never been her intention to say anything as foolish and hurtful as that but that was what he must have gathered from her uncoordinated stammering when she had refused his proposal short after that incident during the strike. _

_Finally he had withdrawn his proposal, had later confirmed that his foolish passion for her was over. That had felt like a slap in her face, not that she had not deserved it at that time. But the pained look on his face when saying those words had ached so deeply, were haunting her dreams, had left a scar on her soul._

_When she had gone to Marlborough Mills for the last time before returning to London, __to bid farewell, _he had glanced at her in a strange and peculiar way that she could not make sense of. His grey-blue eyes had been tired and sad but she could not fathom out why, knowing that he had no feelings for her any longer. He had simply turned around, had left the room, had left her life.

_Back in London, in her familiar surroundings, __she had come to peace and could reflect over the past occurrences. S__he had understood and comprehended at last that she had made a mistake once, back then in Milton, and would have to pay for it for the rest of her life._

_Finally, she had discovered her feelings for that coarse man with the stern look and the impulsive temper, realized that he had started to mean something to her. Finally, she had understood that her discomfort when being near him was nothing but the excitement of a woman being close to a man who was arousing emotions that she was not supposed to have. He had never behaved in an uncouth manner, his sheer presence had caused her uneasiness. His remarkably deep voice had crept under her skin, had touched her soul. She had not comprehended that impact then, only later, after she had left Milton, when it was too late. She had passed up her chances entirely by her foolish behavior._

_When she had heard of his financial difficulties, she had returned to Milton once to make a business proposition, to lend him money for saving the mill, had swallowed Mrs. Thornton's bitter and unjust words, but had not found him there. He had not even deemed it necessary to answer her letter. _

_So she had closed that chapter of her life, sadly and disappointed._

_Milton and its people were history._

_After she had inherited Mr. Bell's assets, __ Aunt Shaw as well as Edith had hoped that Margaret would stay with them, would preferably join in a marriage with Henry Lennox. But Margaret had refused that idea strictly. Legally she was not bound to anyone, was of age and was free to live the life she had chosen but was also bound to the rules of proper behavior which in her time was a task of its own._

_Soon after all the formalities had been arranged - fortunately Henry Lennox had been very helpful - she moved into her late godfather's town house near Hyde Park. It was a vast and impressive house with many rooms, all furnished elegantly and also to her liking. She was surprised to find a grand piano in the back drawing room. She had not been aware of Mr. Bell's skills in that respect. His former servants confirmed though that he had been playing himself whenever he had come to London._

_In her younger days, when she had been living with the Shaws they had bought a piano for Edith but her talent was limited and the lessons that had been arranged for the two girls, __occasionally, _had been cancelled, soon. The fact that Margaret appeared to be gifted was of no relevance.

_When Margaret had moved to her new home she had resumed playing the piano, there were a large number of music books available. It did not take long and she had arranged for a teacher, a young student of noble lineage but living in reduced financial circumstances, to give her lessons. Her talent to playing the piano was apparent, the lessons she was taking helped to improve her abilities, and soon she played fluently, knew some of the compositions by heart. Her teacher was pleased and showered her with compliments. She loved to play that instrument, it was helping her to leave the daily routine, allowing her mind and heart to flee into a world of deep emotion and joy, of passion and longing, sometimes full of sadness and despair, also._

_Aunt Shaw was much displeased to let her niece live on her own in that big house, could not allow her to neglect the standards of modesty and insisted on a chaperone to look after her. _

_In order to have that issue settled Margaret Hale had offered Mr. Bell's former live-in housekeeper in Oxford, Mrs. Amanda Smythers, accommodation in her house at Hyde Park. The late Mr. Bell had bequeathed the elderly and childless widow a generous pension, allowing her to live a life in material prosperity. The widow was a quiet person leading a reclusive life with her books and memories. At times she would meet with friends and distantly related family._

_Once, Margaret had travelled to Spain in order to visit her brother. She had enjoyed the time with Frederic and his family. He was leading the wine-trade of his father in law and had helped to make that business successful and profitable. _

_His wife Carmen was beautiful and charming and the women liked each other from the moment they met; Carmen was like a sister, was open and friendly. She was a caring mother for her two children, and a loving wife for her husband, was always in a good temper, was the sunshine of the family. She made all efforts to make her husband's sister feel welcome and cherished. Margaret was happy to see with her own eyes that her brother was doing well after all he had to suffer. She spent so many precious moments with Frederic, recalling memories of their childhood. They had missed each other so badly over the years and relished the time they were able to spend together. _

_Finally, Frederic had tried to persuade his sister to stay in Cadiz, to live with him and his family, to start anew in that beautiful and sunny country. For a while Margaret had indeed considered to move to Spain for good, but the climate became insufferable for her after a while - it was much too hot for her liking. So she returned to London, reluctantly, to the climate that she was used to._

_Upon her return, she adapted to the life in London with all its attractions and distractions. Soon she had to find out that living as an independent young woman was easier said than done, though. Having to pay attention to the moral standards as a woman of virtue she had to arrange her outdoor adventures such as going to the opera or theatre in the evenings, carefully. Sometimes she could win Mrs. Smythers to accompany her, or at times she would join the Shaws._

_One afternoon, her cousin Edith rushed in, entirely churned up. She did not wait long to come to the point, forgetting all about the etiquette that usually was so important to her, "Oh, Margaret, I am so desperate. I have just heard that we have to move to some cold and dull place in the north. Captain Lennox' regiment will be moved there. Of course, he insists that I follow him but I do not want to leave. Can you not come with us, dear Margaret? I would not be so alone knowing that you would cheer me up?" Edith glanced at her cousin like a little child begging for some sweets._

_While living with the Shaw family Margaret had learnt to comply to Edith's wishes but now she was reluctant, and firmly rejected that wish, "No, Edith, I am sorry but I cannot accompany you. I have found my place here, and I do not want to leave. But why is it so disturbing for you to follow your husband, to follow the man that you love, as you once have told me?"_

_Edith was silent for a moment, it took her some time to muster her courage, but then she whispered, a bit ashamed, "Well, the marriage did not turn out as I had expected it would."_

_Margaret looked at her in astonishment and inquired, "But you have always made me believe that you were happy with Maxwell."_

_Edith's voice was even more tender when she replied. "Yes, but do etiquette and good manners not require from you to be happy and content? Would anybody really care if you were not? That is at least what my mother had taught me."_

_After a brief pause Edith continued in disgust: "I know now why husbands and wives go on a honeymoon for such a long time. You know, we have been to Corfu for more than a whole month. I have thought this would be the happiest part of the marriage, but it was not, Margaret. Every night he forced himself on me, after having drunk too much. He was no longer kind and caring but brutal and mean, thrusting his thick and hard thing into me, it hurt, Margaret, and he was groaning like a wild animal, frightening me with these strange sounds. And every night it was the same. Why do they not tell us in advance what is happening to us? It is so disgusting. Feigning headaches did not help, Margaret."_

_"But you seemed to be so happy when you returned from Corfu. You were pregnant. So happy when you had given birth to Scholto," Margaret insisted._

_"Yes, of course, my son is all I have in life. My husband left me alone when I was pregnant and also later. He is now supporting a mistress and he does not touch me any longer. But he would like to have another child and I am already disgusted when thinking of what that means. But when we go to the North there will only be the military, there will be no culture, no season, no distraction. You know the North, you should know. I am so scared Margaret."_

_She was shocked at Edith's confession: the happy marriage had turned out to be a façade only, a make-believe for others. She shuddered to think that Edith's unhappy marriage would not be the only one existing like that around her. Pity was arising and she was about to give in to her cousin's request but then she realized that there would be little that she could do for poor Edith._

_Finally she observed in a calm and determined voice, "I am sorry, Edith, but I cannot comply with your wish. I would not know how I could help in that situation."_

_Edith tried to regain her composure and nodded. Smiling faintly she said, "You are right, Margaret. You cannot stay the nights with me." Margaret was surprised by that biting comment._

_After her cousin had left, Margaret sat down in the drawing room. Playing the piano helped her to get her head straight._

_She was reluctant to believe that every marriage would turn out to be like her cousin's. Her mother had told her repeatedly that she had married her father out of love. Had that been a lie? Was her sickness caused by an unhappy life? She was not willing to believe that all men would turn out to be like her cousin's husband. Once again she called herself lucky for not being forced into a marriage of convenience. But from what she had understood from her cousin even a love marriage could turn out to be a disaster. She shuddered and preferred to push that thought aside._

_Anyway, for the time being Margaret was content with the twist her life had taken, was content with her independence and freedom. But sometimes doubts were creeping into her thoughts disturbing her utter satisfaction._

_One day, her music teacher Peter Greywood called on her, looking sad and disturbed. He came to the point at once: "Miss Hale, I am desolate to have to tell you that I will have to refrain from teaching you any further. I have received news from my family: my father is dying. I have to travel home, immediately, and regretfully I cannot say when I will be returning to London."_

_Margaret was distraught by his words, well remembering her own history of sad and unexpected events: "Mr. Greywood, I am most concerned about the news that you have come to tell me. I wish you all the strength you require for going through those hard times ahead."_

_He gave her a rewarding but small smile, hesitated for a brief moment and then observed, bashfully, "Miss Hale, this is surely not the right moment for a gentleman to ask but may I inquire whether you will allow me to call on you when I will have returned?"_

_At first, Margaret was surprised about that question but then replied, solemnly, "Of course, Mr. Greywood. It would be nice if you will not forget me. And of course I would be pleased to see you once you will be back," He returned her shy smile and left._

_Margaret was absorbed in thought, recalling the time she had spent with him; he had come regularly to teach her. He was slightly older than she was, was tall and good-looking, had clear blue eyes and blond curly hair that was a bit too long. It gave him a behemian touch. It suited him well. At times she had watched him play the piano, watched his long fingers glide over the keys. She had been amazed, wondering where else those fingers could demonstrate that power and gentleness. Her good manners had not allowed her to follow that train of thoughts, though._

_He had not told her much about his circumstances or private matters and she had not asked. She remembered from her own time back in Milton how embarrassing it had been when she had been forced to live beyond her standards; she only knew that he had fallen out with his father who as a consequence had ceased to support him financially. It had been her impression, though, that he was suffering more from the mental issues than from the low income._

_Throughout the time that followed, while Peter Greywood was away, her thoughts were straying to him more frequently, to his kind and timid nature, to his tender smile, to the way he made his smooth fingers run through his long hair when some tresses had fallen into his face. At times she toyed with the idea of letting her own fingers comb through his curls._

_Sometimes, when she had caught him watching her, he gave her such a boyish and endearing little smile, had a faint flush spread across his cheeks. It had warmed her heart, had made her spirits fly high. It had distracted her from her sometimes sad thoughts, she had cherished being adored._

_Thinking of Peter Greywood made her realize that her life was missing something. Peter Greywood might be able to fill that gap._

_Yes, she would really be pleased to see him again._


	5. Chapter 5: Following a Sudden Impulse

**Chapter 5: Following a Sudden impulse**

The aftermath of Fanny's housewarming party was dreadul, John Thornton could almost not sleep during that night, was lying awake for most of the hours, pondering, burning in anger and disappointment, in loneliness. Though being exhausted but also restless he had started his day very early, had gone over to the mill, had busied himself in his office.

He then returned to the house with long decisive strides. Mrs. Thornton was standing at the window of the drawing room, looking out, watching him, sensing from his killing glance that trouble was coming.

When he entered the room his mother had not moved from the window. She was still looking over to the mill, quietly, her body tensed up, though, her head held up high, both hands tightly clasped behind her back. She was waiting for him to explain himself.

John cleared his throat, he was nervous, "Mother, we have to talk."

Contrary to his raging temper the tone of his voice was calm, but there was a tremor in it that spoke of his agitation.

"Yes, John, I have sensed there is something wrong between us," she observed, not showing any feeling or emotion. She did not turn around to face him but kept looking over to the mill.

"Oh, yes, mother, there is indeed." he responded harshly, "This is going to be unpleasant and painful, I am afraid. But we have to go through this. It is necessary to clear things between us. So many unsaid problems have been smouldering for too long, have been hidden under a blanket of politenes or good manners," he rubbed the bridge of his nose, pondering shortly, "But that had been wrong, mother, that had been utterly wrong."

Neither of them said anything for a short while. John was pacing the room while his mother was pretending to look out of the window.

At last, he stopped pacing. He stood stark and stiff with clenched fists, the white knuckles showed, his breathing was erratic, his face had reddened in his anger, he was frowning in displeasure.

Finally he asked the most urgent questions that had been swirling around his mind, that had kept him awake all night. His voice was deep and trembling as he tried to balance his temper.

"Mother why have you concealed Miss Hale's visit to Marlborough Mills, why have you refrained from handing out her letter? Why have you deceived me so blatantly?"

She winced at the words and the loudness of his voice but kept standing at the window, straightened, pondering. Apparently, there was nothing that could unsettle her. John could, however, not see that she had closed her eyes, her lips were no more than a thin line. She was panting deeply as she attempted to keep her inscrutable contenance. Clearly she had not expected the discussion to be steered into that direction. But somehow she was relieved that her secret had finally been discovered.

"John, I was trying to prevent you from pain, especially during that time when the mill was doomed to run into ruin, again. Clearly, you had to concentrate on the problems that were at stake. Any kind of distraction would have held you back."

Wide-eyed, he glared at his mother's back. She was still standing there, upright, at the window, had not turned around to face him, yet, as good manners would have called for. John was shaking his head slightly as her words sank in, as he was trying to comprehend what she had said. But for him there was no sense in her explanation.

After a brief pause Mrs. Thornton carried on, "I had seen you suffer when that woman had still been living in Milton. Had to stand aside helplessly when she had paltered with you in her arrogance, in her haughtiness, leaving you defenseless in your sorrow. You could not hate her for that, but I could and still can. She is not good for you, John. I know that, I see that, I am your mother. I wanted to spare you the pain of reliving the memories of that woman, who had come to add new wounds to the old ones. She had only returned to hurt you again, John, to turn you down, to torment you."

All the while she had been standing at the window. But then she turned around to face him, meeting his gaze, finally, and continued, piercing her eyes into his, "I repeat, John, she is not good for you but, first and foremost, she is not good enough for you. You deserve better."

"No, mother, you are wrong, I am not good enough for her," his voice almost failed him, but then his temper and tone were rising again, "you have taught me to be strong and hard, so that I was able to get us all out of the mess that father had left for us. And I succeeded, mother, also thanks to your support for which I am deeply grateful. Surely, I will not deny that. But you have also imposed a life of selflessness, of deprivation upon me, have made me bear a life of self-denial," he faltered briefly to soften his voice, "But my feelings, mother, my feelings for Miss Hale are no concern of yours, my emotions, my passion are no worries of yours, either. You have no right to interfere, my life is my own. There is a line drawn between you and me, that you have ignored or had not wanted to see, mother, but you will refrain from crossing that boundary ever again. Have I made myself clear? Do you understand me?"

"But I am your mother," she objected vehemently, "I believe it is my obligation to protect you, I want to help you, I really mean good, John, I am on your side."

"No, mother, you are not on my side. I am no child anymore. I am a grown man, I have feelings that are none of your concern as I just told you, I have desires that I will not discuss with you. It is my sole responsibilty how to deal with them no matter whether I succeed or fail. Again, you have no right to interfere with my life. Therefore your denying me the letter is unforgivable, is arrogant and selfish, is disappointing and cruel," he was aghast as he heard his own words but they were true. Nonetheless, they hurt.

He exhaled deeply and then continued, "But given that you had not wanted me to read that letter I do not grasp why you have not burnt or torn it?"

Her reply came meekly, "I cannot tell you why I have not destroyed that letter, John. My moral standards are not that low, I assume. Perhaps, I thought that when placing it on the table with 'unimportant mail' it was somehow like gambling with fate. You could have traced it, or you could have not."

"You and gambling, mother, how ridiculous. How dishonourable it is to stain father's memory like that, by tempting luck and fate, by accepting a do-or-die situation," he had exclaimed while shaking his head in disbelief. Then he observed almost disgustedly, "But it has gone wrong, as we know. You have lost, mother."

He retrieved his pocket watch to check on the time and realized that it was already late. So he had to break off the argument and leave. Somehow he was relieved about that forced haste as otherwise he might have put his mother out on the street.

"By the way, mother, I will travel to London, on business matters and private concerns. I will be away during the following week. There is no need for you to take care of the mill; I have arranged everything."

Then he left without any other word, still shaking his head in disbelief and lack of understanding, but full of disappointment.

Their bonds had been broken, once and for all, nothing could mend fences with his mother anymore, nothing could heal the wounds she had caused by backstabbing him.

His anger had vanished, though. All that was left were feelings of emptiness and loneliness.

He had closed another chapter of his life.

He hastened to reach his train to London; he was able to occupy a compartment for himself. He was alone in there, he was alone in his life.

He let his mind return to the argument he had with his mother. He felt relieved to have made his position clear to her. He would and could never ever again confide in her, not after she had deceived him. The trust and faith that he once had put in her was gone, irrevocably.

He was indulging in his memories of his younger days, when he had believed that his mother had been his anchor in life. She had made him tough, had hardened him to be able to carry the burden that had weighed on his shoulders after his father had died. Whenever he had faltered, had thought he was no longer able to carry that load his mother had come to help him get up to his feet again and walk on. With her strong will and her mental hardness she had straightened him, had formed him to be unbending. Surely that had helped him to ascend the ladder of success.

He knew he had to be grateful to is mother, and he was, indeed. But still, he remembered her rather as his mentor than a loving and caring mother. Her demeanour had always been stern and unrelenting, her face had always been serious and frowning. He could not remember having seen any of her rare smiles reach her eyes as if that were to admit a weakness. He could not remember having ever sensed a genuine smile on his own face, at least not in her presence, as if it were a sin or lost time. Instead he had adopted her stern conduct, rarely smiled in public and had no reason to smile when he was alone.

But with every mile that the train was taking him further away from Milton he detached himself from the trouble he had left, was slowly directing his thoughts towards his destination, towards the purpose of his travel. Yes he was heading to London on business, but also to solve personal matters.

Soon, his passion and feelings for Miss Hale came crawling out of the deep holes in his soul where they had hidden for so long. Knowing that he was heading towards her made his knees go weak – thank God he was sitting. But he was aware that he was cherishing false hope if he was expecting a warm welcome. He knew that he was not good enough for her, especially now that she had risen high in society, unreachable for someone like him.

But he would attempt to meet her, explain why he had not replied to her letter, setting things straight between them, he owed her that.

The images of the day of their last encounter were still in his mind. When she had come to bid farewell, when he had acted so foolishly.

A childish "So you are going, and never come back." was all he could offer.

Was it a question? Was it a conclusion? He could not tell. Otherwise he had only been staring at her like a school boy, not knowing what else to say in the presence of the others. That was indeed not good enough for her.

He had wanted to take her in his arms in order to comfort her, to soothe her pain because of the losses she had suffered, wanted to show her that he could and would shelter her from the hardships of life. But he had been fully aware that three pairs of cold eyes were set on him, on her as well. Had he been alone with Miss Hale he might have acted differently.

Her face had been so pale and thin, her eyes circled by dark shadows, her slim body so fragile and weak as if yearning for his nearness and the warmth of his body. But he had been afraid that any attempt to give solace by a simple embrace would have been considered inappropriate, a breach of etiquette. A gentleman would not have tried to console a suffering being in the simple way he had wanted to.

So he had refrained from doing what his heart had told him, was simply standing there like a fool. Even when she had offered him a "I wish you well, Mr. Thornton", tagged with a shy smile, he had been paralyzed, unable to respond. Instead he had simply turned around and left the room.

Later, he had been standing in the doorway watching as she and her aunt, followed by that impertinent servant, were proceeding to their coach. The cold was biting while the snow was falling without cease. The flakes were already covering that chapter of his life spreading a snow-white linen all over the place, all over his world, making the past vanish into oblivion, erasing its memory as if it had never existed, making way for new chapters to be written on cleansed and whitened paper.

While watching her leave, a softly spoken utterance escaped his lips, "Look back, look back at me."

But she did not. Had she done it, he would have run after her to warm that fragile creature in his embrace, to hold her tight, to make her stay; but she had not turned, he could not have expected anything like that from her. Her understanding of etiquette clearly forbade such a subtle sign of emotion.

Something in his heart had told him that he was doing the wrong thing in that moment, that it was utterly wrong to let her go without having cleared the disagreements and misunderstandings between them, allowing her to simply leave with a lie. A falsehood he had spat out in his rage, once, when he had told her that any passion on his part was over. But she had believed his words, had believed his lie so easily, so willingly. In truth, he had never stopped loving her, never would.

On that damn day when he had beaten down the silly and negligent worker who had intended to smoke in the mill, he had fallen for her. Had fallen for her the moment he had seen her there through the veil of cotton flakes dancing all around like snow in summer. His heart had skipped a beat when he was spotting that beautiful angel as if she had descended from heaven standing in the mill, looking in amazement at what she saw, wondering what spell had sent her there.

In his foolishness and anger he had continued to beat that worker, furious as he was, unable to think coherently, unable to stop his brutal doing that was fed in that moment by his uncontrollable rage. Later when he was pondering over that incident he had come to the conclusion that only Miss Hale's presence had helped him come to his senses in time.

Then, during the workers' riot, from the moment that she had been lying on the ground, at his feet, unconscious, when he had kneeled down, when he could not help but touch the soft skin of her throat, pretending to check her pulse, he knew that he had lost his heart to her entirely and eternally, leaving no way out for him. That touch and the image of her flawless face with those full ruby lips exposed to his preying eyes was in his dreams ever since.

Later, after she had declined so vehemently to marry him, he had declared not to feel for her anymore. It was so evident that his words had only been some kind of foolish self-protection, had not sprung from his heart. But she was so open to buy that lie. He was aware that there would never be another woman waking such craving emotions in him. And he had allowed her to believe those false words, had allowed her to go like someone that he had known once and would forget soon. How wrong he had been.

Tiredness overcame him, finally, and he fell into a deep slumber for the rest of the voyage. His dreams were full of mixed pictures of his mother, of Miss Hale.

At last he arrived at his destination, slightly recovered and full of hopes.

John Thornton had booked a room in a hotel near the center of London from where he could easily reach his bankers and business partners but also close to Harley Street where he hoped Miss Hale was still living.

So after having checked in and having sent messages to his bankers and business partners, he immediately was on his way to Harley Street. When he arrived, the house seemed to be shut down. He anxiously knocked on the door. After a while a servant opened asking what the gentleman wished for. Mr. Thornton was surprised to learn that the Shaws and Lennoxes had left London for an unknown period of time. And that Miss Hale did no longer live in Harley Street, had moved to the Bell House at Hyde Park, instead. He was given the address which was luckily not too far away.

It was a warm late summer afternoon and so he strolled over to her place. He was relishing the good weather with sunshine and warm fresh air, which was so unlike to what he was accustomed to in Milton. Finally he reached her house and was amazed to find that it was a stately home with a park-like backyard. The old trees were still in leaf but already changing colour. A light breeze was stirring the foliage and the sun rays were dancing in between, creating a changing play of light and colour. There was an air of laziness and leisure, of peace and harmony, of silence around that place as if it was a painting sketched to last for eternity.

Mr. Thornton was highly impressed and had to breathe deeply in order to calm himself, his heart thumped with excitement but also fear, he had to muster his courage to go that step further that was required now. Finally he knocked on the door, told the parlor maid that he wished to call on Miss Hale. The maid answered politely that the mistress was not home, running some errands in town but would supposedly return within the hour to have her tea and prepare for the opera in Covent Garden. Slightly disappointed, he deposited his calling card along with a message and left.

He decided to take a walk through Hyde Park where he had visited the Grand Exhibition the year before. The Crystal Palace had meanwhile been removed, the park was going back to normality. He was watching the people as they were strolling on the paths, being in good humor and indulging in sweet idleness, not having to worry about the money as it was coming in regularly. Such a way of living was so foreign to him as his own life had always challenged him to work hard for what he had achieved. He wondered whether, if given the chance, he would want to live a life of indolence like those members of the gentry and nobility, spending their days whiling away their time, being eager to flaunt their prosperity. Toying with the idea of leading a different life, he almost forgot about the time.

On his way back he caught a glimpse of a young couple having linked arms, leisurely walking across the grass, talking in high spirits. The woman held a red rose in her hand, was smiling bashfully and inhaling its scent from time to time. It was a lovely picture to watch, warming his heart and drawing a rapt smile across his face. He recalled that he had never had a chance to give a rose to a woman, had never been rewarded with such a happy and grateful smile. He recalled the affair he once had with a mistress, some years ago. But that had been some kind of business only, he had paid for her affection, their relationship was beyond true feelings, had not reached his heart. He wondered why he had never given her flowers.

Driven by a sudden impulse and contrary to his initial intention he decided to call on Miss Hale and not adjourn his visit until the next day. So he hastened to return to her house.

Just when he was about to leave the crowded pavement in order to cross the street and walk over to the Bell House he recognized Miss Hale hurrying around the corner on the opposite side of the sidewalk: a beauty with shining dark hair pinned up accurately. With one hand she was pressing her straw hat to her head as a slight breeze was attempting to blow it away, with the other one she had lifted the skirt slightly to be able to move without tripping over the many layers of her light blue gown that looked so stunning on her, its full skirt was swaying in the rhythm of her quick but graceful strides. She appeared to be in haste and she moved faster, as if she was intending to run home. He thought he heard her laughing. Her beautiful eyes appeared to be sparkling while a girlish smile was playing around her full ruby lips. The sun was shining on her flawless ivory-coloured skin, on her entire appearance. Though she was running he had never seen such relaxedness about her, she was a vision of sheer delight. He had never seen her like that before. She was happy.

Mr. Thornton shut his eyes for a brief moment to have that lovely picture imprinited in his mind forever.

Exhaling deeply, he opend his eyes again and was aghast at seeing a young man running after her, laughing, carrying some errands, finally catching up with her. He was tall and good-looking, had long blond hair and a winning appearance, a personable gentleman altogether. Miss Hale and that man were obviously in a good mood, were walking side by side, linking arms, chatting elatedly. Finally they entered the Bell House.

John Thornton did not know why his heart was racing, why he almost forgot to breathe, why anger was eating away his self-worth. He paused and waited for a while, considering whether or not to call on Miss Hale under these circumstances.

He decided to leave, his courage had vanished into thin air.


	6. Chapter 6: A Night At the Opera

**Chapter 6: A Night At The Opera**

Having returned home from the shopping tour Margaret Hale and Peter Greywood found themselves in high spirits. They had spent an entertaining time with each other strolling through the department stores. With his pleasing manners and witty comments Mr. Greywood knew how to cheer her up. She would not deny that she was flattered by his attentions.

They sat down in the drawing room to have their tea. After a while he took his leave, though, in order to change for the evening but foremost to allow Miss Hale to do the same in an unhurried time.

On his way back to his uncle's house where he was staying temporarily he was reflecting over the changes in his life. He remembered that he had come to London to study music - against his father's wishes - a while ago. He had to struggle hard to survive, had to give music lessons in order to earn his living. Circumstances had been demanding, then.

Fortunately, he had been able to reconcile with his father before his death - a great burden had been taken off his shoulders, thus. Having now inherited the considerable familiy assets he had regained his old standing in society. Now that the pecuniary circumstances had turned for the better, he had arranged for private lessons to satisfy his thirst for knowledge of fine arts. Otherwise he was leading the life of a young noble who had no worries about money, no worries about his future. Indeed, things were going well for him.

Especially his relationship with Miss Hale had progressed in a way that appeared to be promising. From the moment of the first piano lesson he had been drawn to that beautiful and well-bred young woman. Her kind and charming appearance had awoken feelings in him that he dared not give in at that time, had only allowed himself to adore her and feel for her in secrecy. But now that he was a man of standing again he would not deny that he was head-over-heels in love with that lovely woman, tried everything to win her heart. If he were able to gain a jewel like her he would be the happiest man on earth. His hopes were flying high since she appeared to welcome his presence, his advances, his flattering, the way he was taking care of her. All the way home a smug smile was playing on his face in anticipation of sharing a night at the opera with her.

Being alone again in the drawing room, after Peter Greywood had taken his leave, Margaret let her mind wander back to the cheerful afternoon she had spent in the company of that unfailingly polite and well-mannered young man. She cherished the kind and attentive way he treated her with. He still behaved in the impeccable fashion with a slight shyness and discretion that he had shown already when having been her music teacher, was a gentleman from tip to toe. His pleasing manners, his handsome looks, especially his sparkling blue eyes, were making her feel light-hearted, made her life easy when he was around. In his presence she felt happy and enjoyed every minute they could share.

For a while, short after his father's death, he appeared to have retreated into his shell, had shied away from life, just as Margaret had done before. She could understand him so well. But now he had left that shell, life seemed to be appealing again. She sensed that she was attributing to his new attitude.

Yes, she was looking forward to spend the evening with him at the opera, to spend time with that good looking and amusing young and elegant man.

And then, unexpected and unwanted, her thoughts returned to John Thornton, whom she believed to have forgotten, long ago. Without notice that stiff and brooding man was emerging from the shadows of her past, was coming back to the fore from the veiled memory of her time in Milton, the town that had taken so much from her, had made her suffer and cry.

Mr. Thornton's stern looks and slightly arrogant attitude could not be compared to the open and easy appearance of Peter Greywood. Their personalities differed as if black was opposed to white, as if a dark starless night was compared to a sunny summer day.

John Thornton - always dressed in a dark frock coat, white linen shirts and dark-hued cravats, in the best of taste, though, a tradesman to the core.

John Thornton - a torn person, lacking emotions and passion, committing himself to performing his duties wholeheartedly, having denied so vehemently to still have feelings for her.

Why could she not forget him?

Now that someone else, someone with an easy-going fashion had entered the scene, had cheered her up after that dreadul time in Milton? Was bringing joy back into her life which she had been missing so badly for so long. She closed her eyes and forced herself to banish the image of that stern and brooding mill owner from the north.

When Mr. Greywood arrived to escort her to the Royal Opera she looked stunning: she was wearing a night blue silken evening gown with delicate lace and ribbon trimming, the bodice was embroidered with pearls that would sparkle in the candle light. The dark colour of the gown highlighted her flawless ivory complexion. Her hair was swept up and secured in an elegant updo, some loose curly locks from the back fell down her shoulder.

"You look wonderful tonight, Ms. Hale. I have never seen you so enchanting. Every gentleman will envy me, every lady will be jealous because all eyes will be on you. I have never seen you so charming before. Is there a special reason?"

"Oh, thank you Mr. Greywood. I am very flattered. But - a special reason. I am sorry, I think there is none," was her pondering reply. And unspoken she continued inwardly to herself '_at least not that I know._'

Upon their arrival at the opera there was the usual hustle and bustle caused by the audience entering the foyer of the hall. Finally they were able to take their seats in the private box that Peter had reserved for them. The view was amazing. From that confined privacy they could perfectly look down on the stage but also watch the people as they were taking their seats. Nonetheless, Margaret was slightly displeased that she and Peter could be watched similarly. She did not like to draw attention like that, however. But leading now a life in the upper class meant that she would have to become accustomed to being in the public eye.

At last the lights were dimmed out and the performance commenced. She concentrated on what was going on down there on the stage, was able to fade out everything around her. After a while, though, her thoughts were straying to the man sitting beside her, proud, confident and seemingly happy. But also Mr. Thornton's image shone through, stern and piercing. She sensed a slight nervousness rising, an uneasiness awakening.

During the first interval between the acts they left their seats to return to the foyer and promenade in the hall. Margaret had spread out her fan, waving it hastily in order to cool her down, to appease her agitation.

"Are you not feeling well, Miss Hale?" Peter was concerned.

"Oh, no, everything is just fine, Mr. Greywood. I think it is slightly too warm in here," she responded with an air of nervousness

"We could go for a blow outside, if you wish."

She felt so comforted by his attentive behavior and gave him a warm smile. "Oh, no, that is really not necessary. Although a refreshment would be nice," she suggested.

"Please do forgive me for having been so unthoughtful." He seemed to be grief-stricken by his inobservance and led her to a counter where refreshments could be obtained.

Peter was able to secure a table for their champagne and strawberries. Margaret enjoyed the refreshments, especially the fruit.

After a while, Peter turned his head in astonishment, looking over Margaret's shoulder, glancing into a direction behind her back.

"Will you excuse me please, Miss Hale, I have just seen my uncle over there, Sir Walter Johnston. You know he is a banker and I would like to introduce him to you. May I invite him to come over?" Peter Greywood smiled at her apologetically.

She nodded her agreement and turned slightly to have a look at that elegant gentleman with grey hair and a grey beard, standing a couple of steps away, deep in discussion with a younger man with black hair and dark clothes, for the time being she could only glance at his back.

As soon as Peter approached them, the black-haired man turned to face him. Margaret was struck when she recognized his profile with the well-defined jawline and the prominent nose, features that she would never forget. A moment later, he turned around completely to face her with his smouldering good looks, piercing his grey-blue eyes deep into hers, stern as always, reluctant to smile as if that would lessen his impact, but anxiously awaiting her reaction to his sudden intrusion in her life.

She paled, instantly, and raising a faint smile she nodded in recognition. She took a few deep breaths, was blushing slightly then, waving her fan nervously.

Then the three men came over to her.

"Miss Hale, may I introduce to you my uncle, Sir Walter Johnston. He is running the Banking House Johnston, Johnston and Partners."

Margaret Hale bowed politely and said, "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Walter."

Sir Walter was all smiles to meet his nephew's beautiful escort. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Hale, I am honoured to make your acquaintance, finally." Margaret bowed slightly and returned his smile.

Then, Sir Walter continued, "And may I introduce Mr. John Thornton to you. He is a mill owner from Milton, and, he is a very good business relation of mine."

All that time John Thornton had his eyes on Margaret trying to read her mind, to discover her feelings about meeting him again, so unexpectedly. When she finally turned to greet him, he said in his smooth deep voice, "I am pleased to see you again, Miss Hale. How are you?"

She hesitated for a moment and then offered her hand against all rules of etiquette. He took it gladly. Two pairs of eyes were on them. "Thank you Mr. Thornton. I am doing fine. And I am surprised but also highly pleased to see you again. How are you?"

John Thornton was deeply touched by her approving and warm reaction to his sudden interference with her life. His confidence was rising.

Margaret Hale had meanwhile managed to recover her poise. But then both of them noticed that he was still holding her hand. Reluctantly he released her. She slowly withdrew her hand, her fingers gliding down his as he simply held his open palm in abeyance to prolong the skin-to-skin contact. His eyes were still holding her gaze. A shy smile flashed around his lips, for a fraction of time only, but long enough to reach his eyes and make them sparkle, holding her attention entirely, nothing else mattered.

Finally Sir Walter interrupted that magic moment, "Miss Hale, Peter; I have arranged reservation for a late dinner in a restaurant nearby. I wonder whether you would give us the honour to join us tonight. Business can wait until tomorrow. What do you say, Thornton?"

With that he looked briefly at his business partner who still had his eyes on Margaret and who nodded slightly showing his agreement and said, "Of course, it would be my pleasure." His deep and hoarse voice was creeping under her skin.

Though Margaret sensed that Peter Greywood was reluctant to follow that invitation, she nodded as well, smiling, and replied, "Oh, the pleasure would be all mine. Surely, that sounds like a good idea. Don't you agree, Mr. Greywood?"

Peter Greywood was overruled but he tried hard not to show his disappointment. He sensed that Mr. Thornton was more than a mere acquaintance. But considering that he himself had made that contact in the first place he could not put the blame for the course the evening would take on anybody else. He knew that Miss Hale was a jewel, most probably he would not be able to keep her all alone for himself.

After a while they had to part and return to their seats.

During the second part of the performance she sensed again an uneasiness, being watched but now she was sure whose eyes were on her, made her pant for air, distracted her from following the action on the stage.

Finally they all met outside the Opera; the night was mild and they took a stroll to the restaurant. When they arrived at that place a servant of the Johnston's household was already waiting for them, informing Sir Walter of a serious accident that had happened at home. Peter's mother had come to call on her sister surprisingly and had fallen down the stairs. Both gentlemen were shocked, wanted to leave on the spot but were also at a loss to coordinate their doings properly. So Mr. Thornton took the initiative and suggested to join Miss Hale for dinner so that both gentlemen could head home without having to worry about her. They were quite relieved and accepted that offer, though Peter was a bit concerned about having to leave her like that, to have to leave her with Mr. Thornton.

Slightly embarrassed, Mr. Thornton and Miss Hale were standing outside the restaurant for a moment.

John Thornton noticed her concern and said apologetically, "I am sorry having been so blunt to make a decision without asking your permission, first. If you feel uncomfortable I will of course escort you home without delay, Miss Hale." His eyes were however pleading her to stay.

Taking a deep breath she said, "No, no, it is quite alright, Mr. Thornton. Indeed, I am a bit worried about Mr. Greywood's mother, though I do not know her personally. To be honest I am concerned about Mr. Greywood himself. He had to suffer the loss of his father only recently and now he has to worry about his mother…" she did not finalize that sentence.

So Mr. Thornton repeated his offer to escort her home, if she had wanted.

But then she regained her poise and, offering him a faint smile, she replied, "No, Mr. Thornton, please do not worry. I think having a dinner here with you is just the right thing to distract me from clouded thoughts. Certainly you will know how to cheer me up." Her captivating smile and her encouraging words made him speechless.

During the dinner, after having exchanged their views on the performance at the opera, they soon narrowed their talk down to personal matters.

Finally, Miss Hale could not but ask bluntly, "Mr. Thornton, all night I have been wondering about the reason of your coming to London and how long you intend to stay, here."

Instantly she was disturbed about her brisk attitude and wished she were able to withdraw her unseemly question. Her faint blushing did not go unnoticed by Mr. Thornton. For a brief moment he was a bit unsettled about her question as well.

But then he replied in a firm and deep voice, reassuringly, "Well, I intend to stay in London for a week. I have to arrange some business matters, such as meeting bankers and customers," after a brief pondering pause he continued, his glance on her, his voice uncertain, "and also there are private concerns that I would like to have clarified." He watched her closely trying to read her mind but she succeeded in hiding her inner turmoil.

"Oh, I see, I am sorry for my intrusion. I did not want to be impolite, Mr. Thornton," she replied, a bitter smile on her face.

He sensed a slight sadness and tension underlining her words; but he did not react, not knowing what had caused that change of mood. Instead he kept observing her with piercing eyes, the use of his napkin was only a sign of his quandary, of his insecurity. He was wondering whether he had misbehaved again. His eyes still fixed on her, he finally raised his glass, waiting for her to do the same.

When she finally complied he said, "I would like to raise my glass to you, Miss Hale. I am glad to find you in much better circumstances than those that you left behind when you parted from Milton."

She put her glass back on the table, nodded, hesitated briefly and replied, looking straight into his eyes, her voice unexpectedly icy, "Yes, indeed, Mr. Thornton. I have risen high in society, my financial circumstances allow me to live under an umbrella that is big enough to not let me worry about my future. I am independent and free to do whatever I wish, but," and after a pondering pause she continued, glancing down on her hands, "but yet, Mr. Thornton, I am still the same person that I was in Milton, am the same being that can be offended by anybody, am the same creature that feels pain when being hurt."

She was meeting his gaze with glistening eyes, whispering in a gentle but sad voice, "I want to go home, Mr. Thornton."


	7. Chapter 7: Doubts and Fears and Hopes

**Chapter 7: Doubts and Fears and Hopes**

Having escorted Miss Hale home - neither had said a word - Mr. Thornton walked back to his hotel, musing about what had happened.

The evening had started so promising.

Yet, their good byes had been rather unfeeling, their eyes had not even met.

What had he done wrong, again?

He let the events of the evening pass his inner eye, he recalled the moment when he had seen her in the opera:

She had been drawing the attention of many a man in that nameless crowd of silent admirers: the queen of hearts holding court. The dark blue colour of her stunning, silken gown, the way her hair had been swept up with those shimmering beads, each and every detail of her breathtaking attire had been underlining her regal attitude. From the moment he had recognized her in the private box he had observed her in secrecy. That good-looking, young gentleman at her side was a mere accessory but John Thornton had been craving to be that man in her company. A burst of jealousy had flashed over him, a pain that he had not known before.

What a silly mistake, back then in Milton, to think his clumsy charms could be enough to find a way into her heart. And he did understand in that moment when spotting her in the private box that she would not be in line with that dreary and boring industrial town. Her regal bearing, her air of haughtiness was so adorable, but in Milton it would be misjudged as arrogance and disdain. He himself had fallen to those preconceptions and prejudices as well, long ago. But he had been fatally wrong.

He did no longer remember why he had come to London. His intention to set things right between them was certainly one reason, but he doubted that it was the only one, was perhaps a pretense only. Maybe, in the back of his mind he had been hoping to revive their relationship. Then, during their conversation at the dinner something had gone wrong, again, he could not tell when and why. But now as his silent wishes had burst like a bubble, he would have to step back into the nameless crowd of silent admirers, would go back to Milton and bury the dreams that he had dreamed about a life with her.

* * *

Having entered the hall, she stood there motionless for some long and anguished moments, her eyes closed, her back against the door, the palms pressed against the heavy timber. She was trying hard to fight the tears welling up.

The evening had taken a surprising and enchanting turn when Mr. Thornton had appeared on the scene. Seeing him again, especially in such a good mood, was so utterly amazing. His charming personality had captivated her at once, his smouldering eyes had attracted her the moment he had stared into hers. His piercing looks might have been indecent according to etiquette but to her they were only the expression of his admiration and she had cherished them deeply. But then the evening had been spoilt as so many other encounters with that Milton manufacturer. He had travelled to London but had not intended to call on her.

She took the cards and notes that were still deposited on the table in the hall and hurried upstairs to prepare for bed. Her dress maid helped her change the clothes and then Margaret was alone, alone again to lose herself in sadness. She had everything that money could buy, was free and independent, and yet she was not happy. She had thought that the tristesse in her life could possibly be shooed away by Mr. Greywood who was always so attentive in a pleasant and decent way, she liked him being around, spending time with him, talking to him, their mutual love for music was binding them. It now crossed her mind that she was demanding much, perhaps too much of him. Surely, he was not to blame that he was not able to meet her requirements, to give her what she needed, this the more as she herself could not fathom what her life in wealth was lacking.

Tonight Mr. Thornton's presence alone had revealed that she had again drawn a wrong conclusion, was anticipating too much from others, from that severe but charming manufacturer from Milton. Or from her former teacher. She had burdened both of them with her high expectations that they could not fulfil.

For so long now, she had been under the false impression that Mr. Thornton was no longer part of her life. Instead, he had been hiding silently in the background of her mind, had now stepped out into the spotlight again like an actor in a theatre playing his role and awaiting the applause of his audience. But his performance did not include an interaction with her anymore, that part had been cancelled in Milton already. This he had made clear by his mention of being here in London for business and private matters, had already been evident when he had not responded to her rushed visit to Marlborough Mills, had not answered her letter, either. If they had not met by chance in the opera she had never known that he had come to London at all. She was no longer part of his plans, of his life. How could she? He had made that clear already, and yet she had been hoping – but for what?

As she lay in bed checking the cards and notes that had arrived in the course of the day, she was suddenly taken by surprise to find Mr. Thornton's card and a note amongst that bundle of papers. Her fingers were trembling when she opened the envelope to read the lines in his distinct and powerful handwriting:

_'Dear Miss Hale,_

_I have tried my luck to call on you today, unannounced, and have failed, unfortunately. I have come to London on a sudden impulse as I wish to clarify some personal matters that have emerged unexpectedly for me, out of the blue, as I may say. I beg you to lend me your ears and listen to what is crucifying my mind. But please do not be afraid, that is not what I would want. I will try and call on you tomorrow, again. – Sincerely – John Thornton.'_

Her brain could not work coherently anymore. So he had intended to call on her. She had to assume now that she was the reason for his coming to London. But she had already ruined the second chance she had been given. For the time being she could only wait and hope that he would still plan to call on her tomorrow. In the morning she would cancel all appointments for the week and would wait for his call ever so patiently.

The night was torturing her, she could not find the rest that she needed. She was tossing and turning, sequences of her encounters with John Thornton were haunting her dreams, especially one telling her that his foolish passion for her was over; it felt like slapping her in the face.

In the morning she was quite exhausted. She cancelled all her appointments and sent a note to Mr. Greywood expressing her hopes that his mother's accident had turned out to be less serious than it had appeared the night before and that she was recovering soon. Then she went to the back drawing room, pacing up and down nervously, but finally sat down to play the piano with an aim to calm her frayed nerves and wait for Mr. Thornton. She prayed he would not keep her in suspense for too long, she prayed he would come at all.


	8. Chapter 8: A Single Thornless Red Rose

**Chapter 8: A Single Thornless Red Rose**

After having returned to the hotel the night before, John Thornton had come to the conclusion that it would be best to go back to Milton without seeing Miss Hale again, to simply let her be. But then literally overnight, he had again changed his mind. Leaving her like that would be a cowardice that he would never forgive himself, that she had not deserved.

He had to explain himself, had to clear the misunderstandings that had been leading to the rash termination of the dinner the night before, had to find out what he had done to obiously hurt her again.

So he rescheduled his business appointments and while having his breakfast he prepared himself for what he wanted to tell Miss Hale, but nervously dropped all his silent rehearsals as not being convincing, this the more as he did not even know what he had done wrong. Finally he decided to head for Miss Hale's place, nonetheless; unprepared, and praying that fate and inspiration would help him out.

There was a flower shop on his way. He recalled the couple that he had seen in Hyde Park the day before, the young woman holding a rose in her hand. That picture still lingered in his mind. Following a sudden impulse he entered the shop. Since the salesgirl was still busy arranging a bouquet of flowers for another customer, he was looking around.

Finally, she turned to him. Smiling kindly she asked, "What can I do for you, Sir?"

He was insecure since he had never been in a flower shop before.

"I would like to buy a rose, a red rose, a single red rose, please," his embarrassment was obvious.

"Do you want to offer it to a lady, Sir?" she inquired politely.

"Yes, exactly."

"I will arrange it nicely, then. Do you want to have the thorns cut?" her enquiry was accompanied by a warm smile that made her eyes sparkle.

"Yes, that would be a good idea, I think," he responded pensively.

While the salesgirl was preparing the flower, John Thornton looked around and found a booklet entitled '_The Language of Flowers'_. He smiled faintly and, spontaneously decided to buy it as well.

When Mr. Thornton had left the shop, the salesgirl gave a thought to the question why he had bought that booklet about the meaning of flowers. She wondered whether he was aware of the fact that when offering a single thornless red rose to a lady it was a love-at-first-sight-admittance. For a moment she pondered whether it was really his intention to commit himself to such a confession, whether it had possibly been a mistake to suggest to have the thorns cut.

Upon his arrival at the front entrance of the Bell House, John Thornton heard someone play the piano, the tune struck his heart. For a short while he hesitated and listened silently to those sad sounds that flooded his mind, were echoing in his soul.

Finally he mustered his courage and knocked on the door. The parlor maid asked him for his name which he gave her anxiously, was scared that Miss Hale might have given instructions to expel him, might not want to see him. But the maid smiled and ushered him in. His hat was placed on the wardrobe along with the booklet, and he was led to the drawing room. Much to his surprise it was Miss Hale who was playing the piano. He had not known before that she was gifted like that. Just as the parlor maid intended to announce him he made her stop by lifting his index finger in front of his puckered mouth, indicating not to interrupt Miss Hale's playing.

The maid nodded and retreated while Mr. Thornton kept waiting in silence, losing himself again into the sad melody. From his place near the door he could see Miss Hale sitting on the small bench, her back exposed to him. When the last chords were over she must have sensed something as she got up abruptly and turned around to face him. She was speechless for a moment, was blushing and panting for air. She stood there embarrassed, her hands clasped in her lap, looking at him as if she had been caught by doing something imprudent.

She lowered her eyes and said, her voice trembling, "Mr. Thornton, I know I am breaking all rules of etiquette by addressing you like this. But before you start to say anything I wish to apologize for my rash words that have ended the dinner last night so abruptly. Please let me explain that I had not seen your card and note before going to the opera. So, last night, when you were talking about your reasons that made you come to London I had gained the impression that it was only by chance that we had met, yesterday, that it had not been your intention to call on me at all, that I was not worth being attended to," her voice was dying away, "After all what had happened back then in Milton I could have understood that … but I had been hoping for more. Please forgive me to speak to you so bluntly, breaking the rules of etiquette which are important to me as I have told you time and again," pausing briefly, she continued in a meek and quiet voice, " but which are also so confining, at times."

After having spoken her mind, she exhaled deeply, as if she was relieved from a heavy burden.

She was then able to give him a warm smile, walked over to shake hands with him. Mr. Thornton was startled for a moment but finally returned her warm smile. He grasped her outstretched hand, holding it again too long. But apparently she did not have any objection and he enjoyed that contact.

After a while, still holding her hand, still breaking the rules, he said, deeply moved: "I bid a good morning, Miss Hale. I am pleased that you are agreeable to receive me. After last night's obvious misunderstanding I was not sure whether you were willing to see me again. I am more than relieved now and pleased about this warm welcome." They were still holding hands, reluctantly they released each other, both smiling bashfully.

"Good morning, Mr. Thornton" Margaret replied, "I am also relieved that you are not holding a grudge against me any longer. May I offer you tea while we talk about the reasons for your call?"

"Tea would be fine, thank you, Miss Hale," he replied politely. "Allow me please to offer you this flower."

With that he moved his left hand from behind his back, presenting her with the thornless red rose.

She took it gladly, but also a bit embarrassed well knowing its meaning. She was amazed about his courage to come along with such a flower not knowing how he would be received here. With a smile around her lips, she inhaled the intense scent of the rose and then called for a servant, giving instructions to water the flower and bring it back along with tea and sandwiches. While waiting Mr. Thornton admitted that he had been listening to her playing the piano for some time, and complimented her on her talent. Poltely she thanked for his kindness and confessed that she wished she were able to play better.

Finally the servant returned and put the tea, a variety of sandwiches as well as blueberry scones with clotted cream on a table near the window. A crystal vase with the red rose was placed on the side where Margaret was supposed to sit. She offered Mr. Thornton a seat while she was pouring the tea. He was watching her closely recalling her ease and gracefulness when she had occupied herself in serving the tea at her home in Milton, how he had watched her every doing with preying eyes as he was already besotted of her at that time. She sat down as well, smiling warmly. "Please, Mr. Thornton, serve yourself." she said, a hand gesturing invitingly to the food stand.

After some long moments of a crucifying silence, Mr. Thornton cleared his throat nervously and said in a trembling voice: "Miss Hale, please let me come to the point, as otherwise I am afraid I might lose the courage." He looked at her with pleading eyes, frowning a little. "There have been happening some things recently that have opened my eyes in some aspects, that had been leading to inexcusable misunderstandings concerning your person and I am here to clarify them. It is intolerable to go on like this. So I beg you to listen to what I have to tell you. Will you, please?" Again these pleading eyes, could she ever say "no" when being appealed like that? She nodded and waited for his enlightening words.

"You know" he started hoarsely "that Marlborough Mills had to be shut down. But, as I have only recently become aware of, at that time you had travelled to Milton to call on me. As I had not been there at that time you had to deal with my mother. It is painful for me to confess that my mother had not informed me about your visit, back then. As I have found out you have also left a letter which unfortunately had been hidden from me, which had been traced only recently, which I have been able to read only recently. Please, Miss Hale you must believe me that I would have contacted you immediately back then if I had known the circumstances. So you must have drawn the wrong conclusion from that silence on my part. Please be assured that I would never have acted as improperly as it must have appeared to you. Even my low standards of behavior would not have permitted such inappropriate attitude."

The moment that hint had left his tongue he regretted his words. After a pondering silence he continued, "This is one thing I wanted to tell you."

Margaret mused about his admission for a while before she replied, "I thank you for your frank words, Mr. Thornton, especially when knowing how close you have always been to your mother. It must have cost you quite an effort to talk about her like that. It is true, at that time I was deeply hurt by both your mother's harsh and unjustified words towards me as well as your silence. But knowing now the exact circumstances I can assure you, that I hold no grudge against you, in fact I never did, I was only disappointed," and after a brief pause she observed in a hushed tone, "Thank you for having been so open, Mr. Thornton."

Her warm smile was genuine and touched her eyes that were on Mr. Thornton for a long while. She lifted her cup to take another sip of tea in order to overcome the awakening embarrassment.

Mr. Thornton continued, finally: "There is yet a second issue that I would like to have clarified and which requires your reply. But please do not hesitate to decline answering if you do not wish to. I assure you I will not be offended."

"Carry on, please." Margaret encouraged him.

"Well, how to put it best?" he brooded for a moment and then carried on: "You are aware that the mill was shut down about six months ago. In order to refloat it I was in need of a credit that, unfortunately, nobody was prepared to give. Finally my banker, you will still recall Mr. Latimer, informed me of an anonymous investor to back me up. Of course, I took the money gladly. I think I have now found evidence as to the identity of that investor," he paused briefly, scrutinizing her reaction and continued, "If I bore you or if you want to stop the conversation at this point please do not hesitate to tell me so."

For a short moment Margaret was thoughtful and then said, trying to sound unemotional: "Oh, no, carry on please."

And he did, his face pensive: " I have reason to believe that the mysterious investor is you, Miss Hale." He looked at her nervously, waiting for her reaction.

"And what makes you think that I might be that investor?" she inquired, after a while.

"Well, first of all I would like to emphasize that the information is not coming from Mr. Latimer, he is a person of integrity and he has not let on anything. But I have read a note according to which a certain 'HM' is that mysterious person. And having read only recently that you had been intending to make a business proposal and taking into account the initials I have concluded that 'HM' might be 'Hale Margaret'."

He waited for a brief moment, his eyes on Miss Hale who appeared to feel uncomfortable. After a while, he continued: "I am sorry to have bothered you with that idea. I do not want to pursue that train of thoughts any further. Please forgive me for having been so blunt."

"No, no, do not apologize, Mr. Thornton. I am only seeking for adequate words to explain the circumstances."

He glanced at her with squinted eyes.

"Well, seeing how open you have been so far, I do not think that I should deny your assumption. But I would like to explain the situation from my point of view, if you agree."

He nodded hastily, a faint smile stole across his face.

"After my godfather had deceased so unexpectedly, I had been showered with all that wealth, as you know. About the same time Mr. Henry Lennox informed me of your financial difficulties. As I had wanted to be helpful I thought to offer you that money that lay idle in the bank and to give it to you as a loan. But as I had been received in Milton rather hostile and as you had not replied to my letter I thought you would not be prepared to accept a credit from my part openly. So I decided to play that trick because I would not have wanted to see you devastated."

She looked down on her clasped hands, embarrassed because of her admission. Not wanting to be misunderstood she continued hastily, "Well not you personally, of course, but Marlborough Mills mainly, to keep your workers on the payroll, so to say."

John Thornton nodded, anger rising, and said, "Of course, not for me personally, but for my suffering hands, I see, I understand."

He was lost in silence for a long while balancing his temper and pondering about her words - of course not for him - but ironically for the workers who had driven him into ruin in the first place. How could he have expected anything else.

When the silence grew beyond all bearing, Mr. Thornton indicated to take his leave.

Ms. Hale replied hastily: "Have all issues been clarified, Mr. Thornton? It would be a shame if we left important things unsettled, now that we have succeeded to talk openly and without hostility."

She gave him a smile that was so warm and enchanting, was calming his frayed nerves, made him want to stay. For a split second he considered to kneel down and admit his affection for her, to confess that his love for her had never ended. But still having her hurtful explanation in mind, he refrained from doing so.

She still had no interest in him, why should she at all? Her kind words and warm smiles must be part of her good manners, surely she would cast such a warm smile even at a stray dog. His intention not to let her live with a lie, with his lie, was forced back for the time being. First he had to reconsider about that intention, whether he should tell her at all. He hoped that she would give him another chance to talk to her, once he had been able to sort things out.

She was looking at the red rose that he had brought while he wondered why she was doing it just in that moment.

All his life he had concentrated on business, on dealing with tradesmen, had learnt how to rank their actions, their reactions, the little gestures that sometimes give away so much; all that knowledge helped him in working out a good deal in business.

But when it came to a woman like Miss Hale he was lost, entirely, was at a loss to comprehend her little gestures or looks, to understand what she meant behind the words she said. Why was she looking at the rose so intensely? Was she trying to tell him something, without words, or was it a warning as a few minutes ago she had confirmed that her doings had aimed at helping the workers, not him. Like during the riot when she had stood up for him but insisted that she would have done the same for any other man.

A powerful and successful businessman like him, now being in trade of his own heart, was in a quandary, not knowing what to do, how to react, being unable to read between the lines, being unable to understand the woman he loved.

His confusion became unbearable, his lack of confidence made him feel low. But finally he could muster the rest of his courage and asked her whether she would be agreeable to meet again while he was here in London. To his relief, she nodded instantly.

"It would be my pleasure, Mr. Thornton," she replied without hesitation, "Your appointment schedule must be tight, so I will leave it to you to name a place and time." Her smile was again overwhelming, almost made him go weak at the knees.

"Well, in the afternoon I have already a business appointment. I am afraid I cannot postpone that. If it is not too soon for you to meet again, I would suggest to have dinner tonight?" he said in a smooth and deep voice that seemed, however, to falter. He frowned, his solemn gaze was on her, trying to read her mind.

She nodded, at once, giving him again a warm smile.

"Is there any restaurant you can recommend?" he continued, "You know, I am a stranger to this part of the world."

He gave her a small smile that was still insecure and shy, yet irresistible. If he had suggested to meet at the end of the world she would have agreed. Miss Hale named a restaurant between her home and his hotel. Mr. Thornton promised to pick her up in time.

When he said his good byes, she twiddled at the rose and then turned around to give him a twig with some leaves. He was taken by surprise as he did not understand what that was supposed to mean.

He left the Bell House, brooding, holding that twig in one hand and the booklet he had bought in the other.

In the meantime Miss Hale returned to the piano, also deep in thought but good-humoured.

In the afternoon a bouquet of red roses was sent along with a note written by John Thornton. His distinct handwriting alone sent shivers down her spine:

_'Miss Hale, you are aware that you left me off-guard when you offered me that twig when we parted. I did not know the meaning of it, then. Now I know, and I am walking on air. Indeed, I have hope again. I cannot wait to see you tonight. Sincerely, John Thornton.'_

Margaret Hale was all smiles, her heart thumped with joy. She asked the servants to place the roses on the lid of the grand piano.

Her life had changed fundamentally. She had hope again to be able to start anew; she made herself a promise to not waste her chances again by an unthoughtful behavior, by rash and biting comments. She knew she tended to have a sharp tongue and promised to contain herself.

Once, she had considered John Thornton to be a coarse man of strictness and severity, whose brain was working on business terms only, who was refusing to smile as this might lessen his seriousness. But he had deep feelings, obviously, feelings that he was hiding and that she had trampled on before, that she would never want to do again. She was walking on air and pledged to be open and kind towards him, to turn a blind eye on the rules of etiquette and to simply enjoy the evening with that stern man whom she would seduce to show her his softer side that she now knew he had. She wanted to entertain him, wanted to see him raise many heart-felt smiles that would reach his eyes, that would make them sparkle like stars.

Later another bouquet of red roses was delivered, much larger and more impressive than Mr. Thornton's flowers. She let them place on the dining room table and sat down to read the note attached. It was from Mr. Greywood:

_'Ms. Hale, I thank you for your kind message asking after my mother's well-being. I am pleased to inform you that the accident turned out to be less serious than it looked like last night. Please accept my sincere apologies for having left you last night so abruptly in the company of Mr. Thornton, whom I do not know at all. Though my uncle reassured me of the honesty of his business relation I consider it unforgivable to have treated you in such a negligent manner. Once again, please accept my apologies for this faux pas. I remain very respectfully yours – Peter _Greywood_.'_

Margaret Hale was deep in thought when she finished reading the note and put it on the table. A gentle smile rushed across her face. Peter Greywood – always so attentive to her well-being; she had grown accustomed to his constant efforts to make her feel good, and he really did. Now, that Mr. Thornton had stepped back into her life, she did not want Mr. Greywood to leave, though. John Thornton had come back and with him – she had made that experience already – troublesome moments and misunderstandings while Peter Greywood and his easy and agreeable manners always succeeded in cheering her up.

She was filled with remorse and guilt already, knowing that she might have to make a decision one day that would hurt one of her suitors, since suitors they were, that had been made clear by the bouquets of red roses.

A couple of weeks ago she was almost sure to go through life without a husband at her side but now she had started to falter, was not sure anymore whether that was what she wanted.

* * *

A/N: According to my "research" into the language of flowers at that time revealed that a rose leaf meant: you may hope...


	9. Chapter 9: Second Chances

**Chapter 9: Second Chances**

In the evening John Thornton arrived on time, the parlor maid ushered him to the back drawing room asking to wait for a moment. He glanced at the roses that he had sent her. A small table had been placed beside the piano, now bearing the bouquet as well as the single red rose. He was deeply moved, imagining Miss Hale playing the piano and looking at his roses, perhaps thinking of him. That thought warmed his heart and let a faint smile steal across his face.

It did not take long and he heard a rustling of fabric that made him turn around: Miss Hale had entered the room. She was wearing a stunning emerald-green silken gown, with a low scooped neckline, short-sleeved and off the shoulder, highlighting her flawless soft skin, her regular features; her hair was again swept up and held together with a few shimmering pearls, some tresses of her hair were hanging down her neck. Yet, all the elegance of her breathtaking appearance meant nothing compared to the loveliness of her face: her bright eyes were shining like stars, her cheeks were glowing with excitement, a beaming smile held sway over her full ruby lips. The queen of hearts had come to receive her admirer. He stared at her wide-eyed and speechless, boldly slipping into a pleasant reverie of being the king of hearts at her side, at least for tonight. He prayed he would not mess it up again.

He bowed in utter amazement before taking her outstretched hand that was covered in a fingerless lace mitten. He could not but raise her hand to his lips and place a tender kiss on it. She blushed instantly, and sensing her embarrassment he apologized hoarsely, "I am sorry, I fear I have acted inappropriately again, Miss Hale, but I am lost in adoration of your appearance. That led me to neglect good manners for a moment. Please forgive my improper behavior."

She could not resist his pleading look and smiled cordially in return, "Mr. Thornton, please do not apologize. I think I am getting used to your unconventional ways; I assure you as long as we are not in public nobody will be bothered. I must admit that I am quite flattered."

He breathed deeply as he felt a burden fall off his shoulders. Apparently she was in high spirits.

"Has your appointment worked out successfully, Mr. Thornton?" she tried to steer the conversation into another direction.

"Oh, yes, it has, Miss Hale. I have met with a manufacturer of cotton clothes and we have discussed the possibility of a co-operation. It looks very promising, indeed," he hastened to explain.

"I am pleased to hear that, Mr. Thornton. I hope the business will work out satisfactorily, then."

After a brief silence, Margaret Hale motioned to the bouquet of roses and said, still smiling, "I thank you for your flowers, Mr. Thornton, they are so beautiful; I wish they would last forever."

Now it was Mr. Thornton's turn to be embarrassed as he was struggling what to reply best. He would have wanted to answer that the roses would surely not but his love for her would last, that the flowers were only the expression of his deep feelings for her, that he had lied when denying his passion for her, that he wanted to marry her, wanted to be the man at her side, wanted to cherish her, wanted to provide for her…

But then a hurtful thought crossed his mind abruptly: he had once asked for her hand which she had refused alleging that he only wanted to exploit her financial circumstances, wanted to buy her affection. If he asked her now, would it not be misjudged again? Would he not be accused to enrich himself by attempting to marry a wealthy woman? He was in a difficult situation.

For the time being, he had to store that thought into the back of his mind; his more urgent efforts were now aiming at connecting with her in a trustful relationship. He surely could not stand to lose her again by angering or frightening her by an imprudent action.

As if he had lost the train of their conversation he was turning her an enquiring look, but was finally able to reply simply, "Oh, yes, that would be nice," and then the jack of hearts in him continued voicelessly '_but my love for you will last forever. I can promise that'_.

It would have been foolhardy to blurt those words out aloud but they would have been true. Certainly such a confession would have been too much at that moment, would have been made too early.

As if she had read his mind she was blushing slightly, her embarrassment was obvious, perhaps his eyes gave him away. But she did not show any sign of being affronted. He exhaled deeply and just when he wanted to explain himself, someone else entered the room: an elderly woman dressed in a black gown, small and slender, with a kind face and grey hair. With watchful eyes she scrutinized John Thornton as he glanced at her questioningly.

"Oh, Mr. Thornton, may I introduce Mrs. Smythers to you? She will accompany me," Margaret Hale's smile was meaningful.

John Thornton was caught by surprise, clearly he had not expected to have to deal with a chaperone tonight. He managed to hide his dismay although this was a difficult task to undertake. Instead he bowed politely towards Mrs. Smythers and said even-tempered, "It is my honour to meet you, Mrs. Smythers."

"The honour is mine, Mr. Thornton," was her kind but short reply, giving him a winning smile which crinkled her middle-aged face. He had to admit that he found her very likeable, but in that moment he wished her to the end of the world

"The carriage is waiting, Miss Hale," John Thornton turned to Margaret who was still smiling. Instantly she arranged an Indian shawl with a floral design around her shoulders and gathered her handbag and fan. She gave him a taunting smile and linked arms with Mrs. Smythers. They went to the front door followed by a slightly disturbed manufacturer from the north, but still walking on air in a world foreign to him. While going down the hall, Mr. Thornton stole a glance at the open dining room where, on a large table, he saw another bouquet of red roses. He could figure out who had sent those flowers; at once jealousy was written all over his face.

* * *

John Thornton had arranged a dinner reservation for two, a table near the window, at that first-rate restaurant that Miss Hale had recommended. When Margaret entered the room all eyes were on her due to her breathtaking appearance; the charismatic and handsome gentleman at her side was a perfect match. She sat down, draping the full skirt of her gown casually under the table. John Thornton was amazed by that effortless action, wondered how she managed to handle that immense amount of fabric so gracefully.

He could not but comment on her attire, "Oh, Miss Hale, your dress looks so stunning, the colour suits you so well."

"Thank you, Mr. Thornton, it is very kind of you," Miss Hale blushed at the unexpected compliment and lowered her eyes.

While waiting for their dinner, he raised his glass of wine in a toast, "To the most beautiful lady I have ever seen in London."

Again her shyness was obvious while she replied, "Thank you, Mr. Thornton, but if you continue to shower me with such compliments I will certainly be the most embarrassed lady you have ever seen in London." Her smile was charming while she continued, taking the conversation into another direction, "And you are no longer displeased about the trick I was forced to play concerning Mrs. Smythers?"

"Well, if you had let me in on your intention, I would not have felt so blindsided, Miss Hale," he replied hesitantly, "You have a whimsical sense of humour, but it suits you. Do you often pretend going out with a chaperone and then leave her at the next corner?"

"Oh, don't think ill of me. To be honest, this is the first time that I only pretended to be in the custody of a chaperone. You know according to etiquette it is inappropriate for a young lady to be out with an unknown gentleman without someone to protect her honour," - she put some stress on the word 'honour' - "And since Mrs. Smythers had intended to meet some friends tonight I thought it was a good idea to give her a lift and to show the neighbourhood that I was well protected in her company. You know, Aunt Shaw does not want me to live alone. She insisted on having someone around to watch over me. And then, when I made the acquaintance of Mrs. Smythers I thought it was quite convenient to have her in my house to play the omnipresent chaperone. In truth we go separate ways, sometimes we share the meals, though, but otherwise we have little contact. The most important thing about that relation is that I do not feel being under control whereas the public appearances are being kept up nicely. But please do not betray me to Aunt Shaw," she finalized, beaming in mock conspiracy.

She apparently enjoyed his company, let him share her ideas. She was so open that it was warming his heart. Obviously he had not to tear down any walls of defense any longer, there were none existing in that moment. His shimmering grey blue eyes glittered at her, a shy smile formed around his lips. For a brief moment he was speechless at how the encounter with her was developing, a bond of faith shared by two children who had done something improper and had promised not to betray the other. He felt a heartwarming closeness. He was still insecure but he sensed his confidence rising, his fear of misbehaving fading, slowly.

Then she lowered her eyes, turning serious again, and added, in a low voice, "and please don't have a low opinion of me, Mr. Thornton. I can take care of myself very well, I will not do anything that might disgrace me."

John Thornton had listened thouroughly. He remembered with sudden remorse that he had once thought little of her back then in Milton when he had seen her with a man unknown to him at that time, whom he had considered to be her lover but who was her brother, only. That memory brought back pictures of the innocent embrace of the siblings at the station, that had made him turn away, stricken with jealousy and disgust. He sensed that she was recalling the same incident in that moment.

After a brief pondering silence he replied, his voice low and trembling, "I know that, Miss Hale. I know that now," and clearing his throat, he raised his brows, a frown creasing his forehead, "I still have to apologize for having wronged you when I had seen you at the station with that man who is your brother. Higgins told me that long ago. Please forgive me for having drawn such base conclusions."

He lowered his head and, gazing at her with an apologetic glance shimmering in his warm eyes, he waited for her reply.

She also lowered her head for a moment and then looked up again, smiling shyly, and whispered, "yes, I am aware what you are referring to and you should know that I was deeply hurt at that time, this the more as I had done nothing wrong, had been judged falsely. Milton has taken so much from me, has constantly treated me unkindly, but it has also taught me many lessons about life, has made me see things that I had not seen before. Sometimes it was hard to swallow, yet I believe it strengthened me all along the line," she paused briefly as if pondering about something.

Finally, she gave him a shy smile and continued, "But I do not want to linger on bad memories anymore. Life has taken a turn for the better and I would prefer to look to the future and what it has in store for… me."

There was a moment of hesitation at the end of her sentence which did not go unnoticed by him. Deep in the back of his mind he wondered what she had meant to say initially, he dared not hope.

Before he could reply, she raised her glass and toasted, "Let bygones be bygones, Mr. Thornton."

He lowered his eyes and reached for his glass. When he raised it, he gave her an irresistible smile, returning her words in his sonorous and deep voice, "Let bygones be bygones. Miss Hale, you are right. Let's start anew."

She nodded bashfully, a sudden flush on her cheeks, while his voice was creeping under her skin.

They sensed a bond of understanding and trust growing which made it so much easier to share their thoughts. They hoped that the thread they had spun and that was binding them now, would not snap and leave them loose and alone, again.

There was a lucky star shining on them that evening, they enjoyed the good food and wine, had a pleasant time being lost in an exciting conversation. They had shut the world out, were oblivious to the other guests who were observing them – in all secrecy.

Finally the dessert was served and Margaret realized sadly that the evening would come to an end. They would have to part, she would be alone in her big house, missing him, missing his rich baritone, that voice that lingered in her ears, her mind, was under her skin, that voice that had put a spell on her. She wondered whether he had sensed anything of her perceptions.

They did not realize how quickly time was passing. Ms. Hale had forgotten about Mrs. Smythers entirely, she feared that she might have returned on her own due to the late hour. While on their way to pick up the widow, alone in the carriage, Mr. Thornton was brooding, did not say anything, while Margaret's fidgety mind let her dwell on the events of the evening, wondering whether her behavior might have been too bold, might have been regarded as improper even. She worried that her attitude might have been a bit too open-hearted or forthright. She had wanted to please him, treat him kindly, show him that she was not that stiff and easily upset person that he had met in Milton. But what did his silence want to tell her now?

At last, having cleared his throat, Mr. Thornton started to speak solemnly, "Mar….Miss Hale, I'm afraid these will be the last moments that we are alone tonight. I would like to thank you for this wonderful time that you allowed me to spend with you. I cannot remember when I have been as happy as I was tonight. We have succeeded in getting to know each other better, have come closer, if I may say so. Yet, there is something that I would like to talk about, which requires, however, some privacy. May I ask you to receive me again in your house?" though it was dark in the carriage, she sensed his eyes on her, "You know that my time here in London is limited, and I have a business meeting tomorrow morning that I cannot postpone, regretfully. I therefore take the liberty of asking you quite frankly if I may call on you tomorrow? I know this request is again not in line with your etiquette rules, but I beg you. Any time after noon would be convenient for me. I sincerely hope that your schedule will allow you to receive me again, so unexpectedly. But…" he stopped talking, his courage had left him.

Miss Hale was quite relieved that his silence had found a simple explanation, was caused by his searching for words. She had well noticed his slip of the tongue when he had started to speak. 'Margaret' – how wonderful it would have sounded if he had continued. She wondered how it would feel to call him 'John'. Would it be too soon to switch to a relation on a first-name-basis?

"Of course, I would be pleased to see you again," she stammered but then regained her countenance, "It is quite understandable that your tight schedule does not allow you to follow the rules of etiquette. And I must admit that not all rules make sense or are convenient." Though her smile was not visible due to lack of light, he sensed it in her words. Truly, he had not expected that things would turn out so well.

"If you wish I could arrange for a lunch, tomorrow," she suggested.

"Miss Hale, I am honoured. This is so much more than I could have expected," he hastened to reply, then exhaling deeply.

After they had picked up Mrs. Smythers, the rest of the ride was done in silence, both pondering on their own thoughts.

Arriving at the Bell House, Mr. Thornton stepped out to lend the ladies his arm, first Mrs. Smythers left and thanked Mr. Thornton for the ride. As a matter of courtesy, she proceeded a few steps towards the house. Then Miss Hale left the carriage, leaning on Mr. Thornton's arm, beaming appreciation; the street-lamp was bright enough to let him see that adorable smile of hers. He could not but lift her hand to place a kiss on it; his glowing eyes and his hot breath made gooseflesh prickle her skin. He gave her a crooked smile.

"I thank you for the wonderful evening. I will not forget it - John?" His name was more a question than a form of address, "I hope your business meeting will be successful. I am already looking forward to seeing you for lunch. Have a good night," she whispered.

For a split second he was all smiles, "Margaret" he mouthed slowly as if to savour each syllable on his tongue.

He accompanied the ladies until they reached the entrance door and waited until they were safely inside.

Pondering over the events of the night he made his way back to the hotel, looking forward to the following day. He was in high spirits.

Inside the Bell House Margaret was still full of vim and vigor. She grasped Mrs. Smythers' hands to make her dance with her, to turn around and around, again and again. At last, they stopped, out of breath, laughing.

"I wonder whether I should have accompanied you for the dinner, Margaret," Mrs. Smythers commented, knowingly.

"Oh no, Amanda, everything was quite fine, even without your help, thank you. I am sorry for having kept you waiting for such a long while but I did not realize how quickly time was passing." Margaret was still moving dreamily, as if in trance, all smiles and humming when she stepped upstairs to retire, dwelling on that pleasant evening.

She went to bed, misty-eyed, looking forward to the dreams she hoped to dream that night.


	10. Chapter 10: Rushing Into Decisions

**Chapter 10: Rushing into decisions**

"Ms. Hale, I must apologize for not having called on you earlier." Peter Greywood was grief-stricken when he entered the parlor, "My mother's condition is not serious but she cannot move properly, and not without pain, I assume. In order to distract her she is insisting on having me around all the time."

"No, no, Mr. Greywood," Margaret hastened to reply, "please do not apologize for something that is beyond your influence," she gave him a warm smile which he returned gladly, before she carried on, "and thank you so much for your wonderful roses. The bouquet is overwhelming, indeed." She was still smiling when looking at the flowers that had now been placed on a table in the parlor, for her visitors to admire.

Peter Greywood was trying not to show his disappointment as he had hoped that she would have arranged the bouquet in a more intimate place. But on the other hand - he calmed his mind - to place the flowers so openly in the parlor proved her appreciation of his affection. Anyway, a slight shadow of a doubt remained, yet, he could not fathom why.

"May I offer you tea, Mr. Greywood, or some other refreshment?" she inquired in order to overcome the silence that had arisen.

"Oh, no, thank you, Ms. Hale. I am in a hurry. I only wanted to ask after you personally, as I had to leave you so unexpectedly with my uncle's business relation. I still cannot not overcome a feeling of guilt to have left you in his care, although I do not doubt his integrity as a gentleman, but I should have asked you for your approval before leaving in such a haste."

Margaret was once again pleased to note how much he cared about her well-being and replied, "Do not worry, please. Mr. Thornton is no stranger to me, I know him from Milton. He treated me in a respectable and appropriate way, I assure you. Indeed, I felt very comfortable in his care, he is a most honorable gentleman."

Mr. Greywood pretended to be satisfied with her answer. In truth, he could not overcome a dislike of the manufacturer rising in him, though he did not know him at all. This prejudice was unlike him.

"Miss Hale," Peter Greywood was nervous, obiously, "I have told my mother about you. I have been very enthusiatic in describing how charming you are, and yet it has only been the truth. My uncle also spoke highly of you and now my mother is already impressed in a way that she cannot wait to meet you. She would like to make your acquaintance as soon as possible and asked me to invite you for tea this afternoon." His eyes were pleading.

Basically, she was delighted about that request. But, as she had already other plans for the afternoon she had to refuse his request. She sensed where her relation with Peter Greywood might lead her to, and it was not at all a disagreeable thought. He had started to mean something to her, some time ago, already. Her feelings for him had commenced to develop slowly first, like a little plant growing stronger from day to day, unfolding a strange but pleasant closeness to him, trust in him, knowing that he would be there for her in case of need.

But yet, with John's sudden return, with his interference with her life, her plans and hopes had been leading her abruptly into another and all concuming direction. She did not know where that road was taking her, but she was also aware that she could not stop or turn anymore.

The day before when she had received the bouquets of red roses, she was flattered by the thought of having two suitors at the same time. Surely any other woman would have loved to toy around with them. But she was not any other woman, she was Margaret Hale who had her own view on life, filled with warmth and honesty, but also with a slight tendency towards stubbornness.

Surely, she had never wanted to hurt anybody who was dear to her, but she knew she already had before. There had been times when life had demanded it from her.

She remembered how guilty she felt after she had declined Henry Lennox' proposal so long ago. She knew it had been the right thing to do but remorse had kept following her for a long while. Apparently, she had given a false sign of a willingness to marry him. But that had never been her intention and it had pained her having to set things right with Henry Lennox and having to destroy his dreams.

When she had rejected John's proposal, she had recognized only later how deeply she had hurt him and had kept hurting him afterwards. Remorse had come to the fore again, later though, but no less painful.

John Thornton had not renewed his proposal, yet. She could not be sure that he would, but she hoped for it to happen so badly. She prayed that , one day, if things were developing in the way they were now he would ask her again. Even if he did not propose a second time Margaret was already emotionally so deeply involved that a continuation of her relationship with Peter Greywood, on the same level as before, was unthinkable. Last night's dinner with the mill owner - for a split second pictures of the extremely heartfelt evening with him were racing through her mind - had shown her unmistakably where her affections were dwelling. She could and would not deny that anymore.

So it was time again to hurt yet another person who was dear to her. She would not opt to postpone her decision. That would only be an inexcusable cowardice. But how could she refuse a proposal that had not been made yet?

"…Miss Hale?" Margaret had obviously not listened to what Peter Greywood had been telling or asking.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Greywood," she started, more stammering than talking, "I..I am sorry, I let… my thoughts wander, please… excuse me. But… it just… crossed my mind that…that.. I have already an appointment…for the afternoon. So I…I regret but…cannot accept …your.. invitation on such short notice." Her glance was rueful.

Peter Greywood looked at her in total surprise, he had never heard her speaking in such a meek voice. Instantly, he was on the alert and squinted at her questioningly. "Excuse me, Miss Hale, is everything alright? I did not mean to inconvenience you. I have told my mother that her wish was in fact expressed on short notice. So would any other day suit you, Miss Hale?" he was still scrutinizing her poise, her reaction to his suggestion.

"Well, Mr. Greywood, I think… this week…would not be a good idea," she was strainung for words, could not stop her stammering.

"I think I do understand, Miss Hale, you have reserved your time for that Mr. Thornton from Milton. I see that clearly now," Peter Greywood observed, disappointment written all over his face.

"…in fact there are other appointments I have already accepted, I am afraid." She continued her stammering when telling him that white lie. She did not have the heart to tell the truth.

Peter looked at her in disbelief, his eyes full of sadness and sorrow.

At last he was able to speak again, "Miss Hale, I think I do understand, I understand you completely," - the words sent shivers down her spine, she had heard them before – "I have sensed at the opera already that the manufacturer from Milton meant more to you than it appeared. You might have been able to hide this from the world, but not from me, I know you so well. And I feel if there is something wrong. And there is. I will step back for now and refrain from bothering you for the time being. The roses that I have sent really meant something, Miss Hale, you know that. But I will not give up so easily, I will fight for you, I can assure you. I am convinced that my time will come. Apparently that manufacturer has impressed you, though I do not comprehend how. He is a tradesman to the core, a businessman through and through. I know this kind of people, my uncle is one of them, he is thinking of figures only, his brain is filled with them, he is not interested in anything else. He only goes to the opera to be seen there, to make believe that he is a man of wide-spread interests outside of his bank, only to please his customers, to draw them to him. These people are so easy to see through, are not able to hide their true nature for long. Believe me, Miss Hale, you will be bored soon, since you are a person sensitive to art and beauty, to music – as we both know and appreciate. You once told me that we are united by so many common interests. Do you really intend to throw that away? I cannot imagine you talking about accounting problems, of calculating columns of figures in black or red. You would not fit into that world of tradesmen and manufacturers, Miss Hale."

Margaret was annoyed about Peter's words, was hurt by his low opinion of Mr. Thornton.

She remembered when she had met Mr. Thornton during the Great Exhibition the year before , when she had watched him, had listened to him while he was standing in a group of his peers, when he had been talking about the advantages of new technologies and the impact they would have on the prosperity of the Empire. How he had visualized the process of the advanced machinery. How the listeners had been fascinated by his figurative words, by his charismatic way of talking. How she herself had been mesmerized by his clear and precise explanations, by his spellbinding voice. And then when he had attempted to include her in the discussion, she had once again shot one of her biting comments. Oh, had she only reacted differently then.

And she also recalled when she had overheard him talking to her father about literature, how much he knew about the authors, about their views on life, their philosophy they had been writing about. What an open and clear mind he had revealed, how easily he had been gaining a full understanding of what her father had explained while they had been discussing the books they had been reading.

Her reply came instantly, this time her voice was firm and clear, "Please do not judge someone you do not know, Mr. Greywood. John is a hard-working man of a wide range of knowledge. I will never be bored in his company. And, please, do not assume that he is only thinking in trade terms, he is reading a lot, as his time permits, and not only the financial pages in the daily news as you suggest."

Peter Greywood realized that he had touched a rather sore point. In addition he was startled to note that they were on first-name terms already which gave him a pang in the heart.

"And do not underestimate his abilities, please. He might have deficiencies in fine arts but he surely knows more about them than you can imagine. I am not sure whether you know as much of his trade in comparison to what he knows about culture and art."

Peter was surprised how vehemently she was defending his rival. Under these circumstances he thought it wise to drop that topic.

After a brief pause, he carried on, in a low and pained voice, "I do understand, Ms. Hale, I will not insist on anything. But allow me please to observe that I feel to have been misused, have been used like an umbrella that one picks up when it is raining only to put it back in a corner as soon as the sun is shining again." His disappointment was obvious. His words were a slap in her face.

He came closer, bowed politely and said, "I think I better take my leave now, I do not want to put too much pressure on you. Please accept my apologies if I have been unkind or too forward. None of that had been my intention. I bid a good day, Ms. Hale."

He was disturbed and left, did not even wait for her good-by.

Margaret was deeply grieved to realize that she had again hurt someone who was dear to her as she had been afraid of before. What else could she have done? By defending John so vehemently only confirmed where her heart was taking her.

Sadly she returned to the drawing room glancing at John's roses. Soon she was regaining her good mood while thinking of him and his very special ways. Somehow he was so unlike the other gentlemen she knew. The stiffness that had surrounded him for so long was crumbling and his true being had surfaced. He was now opening his heart that he had been forced to hide since his younger days.

Being out on the street Peter Greywood decided to take a walk in order to balance his temper, to consider what he had heard from Ms. Hale. That man from the North had come out of the nowhere and deranged everything. Peter Greywood was annoyed about the unpleasant and unexpected turn of events. Pondering over the developments he did not notice that he had turned into Harley Street, where Ms. Hale had used to live before she had moved into the Bell House. A carriage halted and Mrs. Shaw stepped out, giving instructions to carry her luggage and other belongings into the house. He approached quickly and greeted her politely.


	11. Chapter 11: Raw and Pure

**Chapter 11: Raw and Pure**

Margaret had returned to the drawing room, anxiously waiting for John and rethinking her encounter with Peter Greywood, regretting that her acting had affronted him. But there was not much time for pondering since the maid announced Mr. Thornton who had been ushered to the parlor. Margaret hastened to welcome him.

He stood in the middle of the room, his eyes fixed on the roses, wondering whether they were the same that he had seen the day before or whether possibly fresh flowers had arrived, meanwhile. When he heard Margaret entering, he turned, giving her a warm and gleaming smile, offering her again a single thornless red rose which she lifted to her nose, at once, taking in its scent deeply.

"Thank you, John, the rose is so beautiful and its scent so intoxicating," she called for the servant to water the flower and gave instructions to have the lunch served in the dining room. She then turned again and glanced at him radiant with delight and all excited.

"So, I am here again, Margaret." It was the first time she heard him say her name aloud, the sound sent shivers down her spine. "I thank you for your kindness to receive me at your place, to welcome me so warmly," he was still smiling, a bit nervously though, "I am grateful to you for having invited me for lunch in your house, but there is something burning on my soul that I must talk about first."

Margaret noticed that his eyes were straying to Mr. Greywood's flowers; apparently he felt uncomfortable in the room. She was sorry for John and suggested to go over to the drawing room. He gave her a shy but grateful smile.

A wordless understanding had developed between them. The ties they had established the night before were lasting, obviously.

Having gone to the drawing room, Margaret closed the door and turned around to face him, frowning.

"What is it John?" she wanted to help him find his words.

But he was silent, apparently pondering over how to start. Finally he cleared his throat and commenced. His nervousness was obvious.

"Please do not interrupt me now, Margaret, let me speak to you freely, as the words are on my tongue, not sugar-coated, not translated into the genteel language dictated by etiquette. They come out as they are from the bottom of my heart, raw and pure, unpolished and true."

He paused briefly and then blurted out what was on his mind, what was weighing on his shoulders for so long.

"I have lied to you Margaret, back then in Milton when I told you that I did not love you anymore - I think – 'my foolish passion for you is over' – were the words I used. It was a lie, Margaret, a downright lie." He briefly rubbed the bridge of his nose and then carried on with his confession.

"You know I have a temper. I wanted to hurt you because you were hurting me, wanted to convince myself that it was a mistake to fall for you. I wanted to believe that if I heard those words coming from my own mouth I could trust them, could free me from the invisible chain that had me tied to you. You had said that you did not feel for me, never would. I always knew that I was not good enough for you, and I am still not, I am entirely aware of that; my passion was foolish and still is - but it is not over, Margaret, I swear – it is not over and never will. I have tried to forget you, tried to drown your memory in forgetfulness. There were times when I was almost sure that I had succeeded, was sure that I had overcome you, but that was an illusion, a make-believe to soothe my wounded pride. It is so very easy to betray the world by a lie, make the world believe in an obvious falsehood. Even you, Margaret, believed it so easily."

Margaret was confused by his confession. She felt compelled to respond, yet she could not find any words to reassure him. The silence was getting unbearable.

He stood there, pondering, breathing deeply while trying to calm himself. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he had closed his eyes. At last, lowering his voice, he continued, "I am sorry to have overstrained you with what I said, my words have apparently frightened you. That is not what I have wanted. I know my temper gets the better of me at times."

She still did not say anything but watched him thoroughly, the thoughts in her head were scattered, incoherent at least.

Breathing erratically, he stepped forward to close the gap between them and peered at her intently.

She looked up to him, holding his gaze in wonderment. A sudden feeling of excitement rushed through her body, made goose bumps rise.

"I can't stop loving you, Margaret, never had and never will," he rasped in that wonderful, hoarse voice_. _

She opened her mouth, wanting to answer but was still lacking her words. She raised her hands, as if marking a line between them, holding her palms as a shield against him as if intending to push him back. But she did not. Instead, she put her hands gently on his chest, let them rest there. Her eyes were full of questions.

"Oh Margaret", he whispered, his hoarse voice already under her skin.

He put his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, lowered his head and claimed her lips. She did not refuse but gave in to his unruly advance, hesitantly at first, but then surrendered to the sweet sensation, unknown to her so far, as she had never been kissed before.

His passion grew stronger, he was on the verge of losing his self-control. His hands were gliding up her spine, finally reached the nape of her neck, lingering there briefly, and then cupped her cheeks, his lips still on hers, exploring her features with his mouth, with his tongue. Only his need for air let him break the feverish kissing, otherwise he was entirely lost in his want for her.

Finally he came to his senses again and slowly withdrew from his approach. His strong yet gentle hands were still cupping her cheeks possessively. He opened his eyes to look at her, she fluttered her eyelids open as well – no sign of dislike or fright in her glance – only wonderment and excitement. He smiled boyishly at her as embarrassment overcame him. He pressed his forehead against hers, not wanting to lose contact, and whispered velvety, "Margaret, oh Margaret, don't chide me for what I have just done. I tried to withstand, but I could not," he exhaled deeply, his hot breath made gooseflesh prickle on her skin.

A faint smile rushed over her face, a dark red was showing on her cheeks, as she answered dreamily, "I won't. In fact I'm glad you did not withstand."

She dared embrace him, leaning in to his body while he lowered his head to kiss her again, more gently this time.

All of a sudden, the door burst open and Aunt Shaw rushed in, stopped abruptly, shocked and infuriated, speechless only for a split second, "Stop it. What is it what you're doing to my niece, Mr. Thornton? Release her instantly." Her tone was harsh and overbearing, "Margaret, come over. I will take care that he will not assault you anymore. – And you, Mr. Thornton, leave this house immediately and never come back or prey upon my niece as if she were a lady of easy virtue."

John Thornton released Margaret slowly to turn around and face Aunt Shaw. He glared at her, feeling like a criminal who had been caught ravishing a defenseless woman. He was trying to balance his temper, to control his anger, whereas Aunt Shaw judged his silence as his admission of guilt.

"This illiterate person does not have any manners, I told you, Margaret," her words were poison, "He is vulgar and disrespectful and does not know how to treat a lady mannerly."

"Aunt Shaw, please do not judge him harshly. Yes, he kissed me, but I did not refuse," Margaret tried to appease her.

But Aunt Shaw immediately reprimanded her in return, "Do not tell me such nonsense, Margaret. He is ill-bred and rude. When you were under my care I tried to teach you good manners, tried to teach you how to behave appropriately. I see that all my efforts were in vain, apparently, you have gone mad, now; if you think your life is lacking those unseemly things, you should have married. I should have insisted on a marriage with Henry Lennox who is a gentleman und who was prepared to take you, even when your financial standing was low."

"You are unfair, Aunt Shaw," Margaret's face went pale but her temper and voice were rising, "you have no right to talk to me like this. You are unjust in your presumption that I have behaved unseemly. Neither Mr. Thornton nor I have done anything we have to apologize for. We are of legal age and don't have to justify our actions behind closed doors. And may I remind you on proper behavior as well: you are in my house. Before entering a room, etiquette surely requires a person to knock on the door and wait until invited in. So please don't dress me down like a child."

Aunt Shaw was aghast about Margaret's outburst and, with open mouth, stared at her in disbelief, clearly being affronted by the lack of obedient respect towards her.

John Thornton was, however, amazed about Margaret's willingness to defend their doing. Until that moment he had only witnessed her safeguarding others towards him; now she was defending his doing so passionately. What a wonderful woman. He could not help but glance at her in awe; yes she was simply the best, and she was meant for him.

Aunt Shaw stood silently for a short while trying to regain her composure, then her words returned to her, "Margaret, he is not good for you, I insist that he leave now, he is nothing but an arrogant _parvenu _from the North…"

"And so am I - the only difference is that I am from the South," Margaret interrupted heatedly, " and that John had worked hard for his money while my riches was handed to me on a plate….Etiquette and money – that is all what's on your mind, Aunt Shaw…" '_but what is in your heart?' _was what she did not say aloud.

As if John had sensed that there was a 'but' he turned again towards her, his back directed to Aunt Shaw. He took Margaret's small hand in both of his in order to soothe her agitation. It was cold and he pressed it reassuringly, raising it to his lips and kissing it softly.

Just when Aunt Shaw wanted to carry on with her scolding, John addressed her, his eyes still fixed on Margaret, his voice determined, "Mrs. Shaw, you have heard what Margaret said, there is nothing else to add. She would surely appreciate if you left instantly."

Then he turned around slowly to face her, his piercing eyes made her shudder. But she held her ground, looking at him in denial, "You have no saying in this house. This is a family affair, you better keep out of this and take your leave," she tried to get the upper hand.

"No," he replied very slowly, "you are wrong. Your allegations are aimed at me as well. And I cannot accept your ill-founded criticism towards your niece; her manners are impeccable. There is not a shadow of a doubt about that," his agitated voice filled the room, "with all due respect, Mrs. Shaw, I repeat, you should better leave, now."

Aunt Shaw glanced at Margaret and let her eyes briefly linger on her. Then she turned to John with cold eyes, "Your lack of respect is shocking, Mr. Thornton, your rude manners are inacceptable. You are a guest in this house but you act as if you have authority over this place." Aunt Shaw shook her head and swept from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Margaret shivered slightly, her body had turned cold; but she regained her warmth as soon as John took her in his arms to pull her closer to him. Wrapped in the shelter of his embrace she realized what her life had been lacking all the time: the nearness of someone strong and authorative who cared for her, the touch of someone who loved and protected her, just as John Thornton did.

She looked up into a pair of warm grey-blue eyes. John whispered hoarsely, "I am sorry that my imprudent action got you into this embarrassing situation, Margaret. But not for anything in the world would I trade how you stood up in my defense. You fought like a lioness, you were so determined, so wild in your rage. Margaret, you were wonderful, I love you, words cannot tell how much."

His smile reached his eyes, he pulled her even closer against him, lowered his head and murmured, "We should continue where we have been interrupted."

With that he raised one hand and tucked a loose tress of her hair back to where it belonged and let, in a light and fleeting brush, glide a finger along the contours of her ear down to the lobe. He claimed her mouth again, a slight groan escaped from deep within his throat as he sensed her willingness to answer to his want.

Again, after a while, he reluctantly withdrew, smiling, letting his index finger gently glide along her eyebrow, then from the bridge down her nose, to her lips, following their contours. She had closed her eyes letting the sweet sensation of his touch sink in, giving in to his caress, enjoying his nearness, his warmth, inhaling the musky and spicy fragrance that lingered over his own scent, made her blood pulse through her veins, made her heart thump, made her wish for more of him. Then he stopped reluctantly, placed his finger gently under her chin to lift her face, made her look up into his eyes that were burning with endless desire for her.

"Margaret," he whispered velvety, "I love you, will you marry me?"

Inwardly he chided himself for that simple and unworthy proposal, no prepared speech, no kneeling down, this was truly not good enough for such an angel like her and he was frightened to be rejected again because of his unmindful step. Squinting his eyes he watched her nervously, prepared himself for her rebuff.

She was silent while looking straight into his eyes, then, after a while, she nodded without saying anything, was biting on her plum bottom lip only. Finally she was able to release her reply, "Yes, John, I will. And I love you, too. I love you for a long time now, already in Milton it had commenced, but I found out only here," she breathed deeply and then continued, "and I thank you for formulating this so simple and honest, no prepared speech, no kneeling down, just holding me in your arms. That is how I want it, here is where I want to be."

He exhaled deeply in relief and happiness. He pressed her tightly to his chest, still breathing heavily as he felt his heart thump. Margaret raised her hands to touch his face, to let her fingers explore his clean-shaven cheeks, his prominent nose, his eye-brows, his jawline and chin that were already growing a stubble, his soft lips. She smiled and whispered, more to herself than meant for his ears, "all mine, this is all mine," well knowing that such a statement would not be in conformity with the rules of etiquette. She smiled, bashfully, and then murmured with a longing look, "I think I better jettison the rules of etiquette when I am with you. I cannot adhere to them when you mesmerize me by your sheer nearness, John Thornton."

Her cheeks were glowing, her smile was irresistible.

Smirking, John replied "I won't object," and turning severe again he continued, "You just made me the happiest man on this earth, Margaret."

He did not want to let go of her but then he reluctantly did. His stomach was growling.

"Luckily I had instructed to prepare a cold lunch, it should be ready by now," Margaret smiled at him, as they walked over to the dining room where a variety of food was waiting for them. The rose that John had brought today was placed in the middle of the table; Margaret sighed when she looked at it.

While eating they were talking about the events of the day, about their wedding plans. Both of them did not opt for a long engagement as they were bound and determined about their decision. But the wheres and whens seemed to be a problem that they had to work out carefully in the not too distant future.

Regretfully, John had a tight schedule, could not stay for long. The meeting he had in the morning was promising, a profitable business seemed to be on the horizon. John had to prepare a detailed calculation due for presentation to that prospective customer in the evening. Though Margaret was pleased to hear about these chances, she felt miserrable having to let him leave so early.

Later when the house had come to rest and when she was alone in her bed she still felt John's hands on her cheeks, his fingers gently gliding up and down her spine, his touch that had awoken so many unknown sensations, his scent that lingered in her hair, his voice that still echoed in her mind. And yet she had to refrain from following that train of thoughts and pleasant memories, had to sort out what had happened in the course of the day, had turned her life up-side down.

For a very long time, Peter Greywood had been part of her life, truthfull and attentive. But she had to close that chapter, ruefully. She had given him to understand that John Thornton had returned, not leaving any space for another suitor. It surely was the right thing to do, was honest and morally correct, though hurtfull likewise.

Today she had realized that John Thornton was her life now, was filling her mind and attention, her heart, entirely, was all-consuming. She shivered as she remembered that she had rejected him once, but she had not done that mistake again. She was happy about the turn her love life had taken. She had opened another chapter .

She wondered what would have happened in case she had been caught in an intimate situation with Peter Greywood, whether _he_ would have stood up for her in the same way as John Thornton had done. But then, she realized that Peter Greywood would surely not have put her in a situation like that, in the first place, he would have followed the rules of etiquette and would have known how to avoid any unseemly acting.

Slowly her thoughts were returning to John Thornton and his smouldering good looks, to his very special way to treat her, to make her feel good in his presence. He was so unlike the man she remembered from Milton. It appeared that he had changed, or maybe he had not, only her view had, making her see the true und loveable nature of that honest man. Yes, she had made the right decision, she was sure of that. But she was also afraid that a life with John Thornton would not be a life of entire harmony. Slowly she drifted to sleep, full of pleasant dreams.

Margaret was still busy with her breakfast when Aunt Shaw rushed in, not paying attention to the fact that it was too early to call on someone. So Margaret was reluctant to receive her at all but her aunt was insisting.

"Child, you cannot behave in the way you did yesterday. It was so embarrassing for me. That ill-bred manufacturer is not good for you, believe me." Aunt Shaw was still infuriated, could not to be stopped, "You will instantly return to Harley Street. Peter Greywood had opened my eyes when he spoke to me upon my return, yesterday. And I have been in contact with him again; he is willing to take your hand in marriage."

So Aunt Shaw had already been busy.

"I have invited Peter Greywood for dinner already; he will propose to you and then everything will be worked out smoothly. You are going to be his wife in the not too distant future; the announcement can be made next week already, I think."

Margaret was aghast at both her aunt's and Peter's obvious bustling activity. She was highly disappointed about Peter's demeanor; she had never believed he could behave as perfidiously as he had done. She had trusted him, thought that he was a good friend to rely on in case of need. But there she was mistaken.

Apparently, Aunt Shaw considered Margaret's silence as consent to her suggestion. And there Aunt Shaw was mistaken. Furiously, Margaret raised and yelled "This is such an infamous scheme that you have worked out. Do not think that I will follow any of your treacherous plans. I want you to leave this house, immediately, once and for all. Aunt Shaw, you cannot fathom the disappointment you have caused me, I have never thought anyone of my own blood would treat me so maliciously. Please leave."

As Margaret's screaming had drowned out everything else she had not noticed that John had arrived, in the meantime, unexpectedly. Alarmed by her shouting he rushed in, sheltering her in his arms. Having overheard the last part of her words, he addressed Aunt Shaw, his deep voice trembling with fury, "You leave now and never come back. Please consider this a warning. I will call the police if you ever show up at this door again."

No, that was not gentlemanlike but Aunt Shaw understood, paled and left. The parlor maid ushered her out.

When John heard the closing of the front door he called the parlor maid back and instructed her, "Mrs. Shaw is not welcome here any longer. She should not be let in. Is that clear?"

The maid bowed but then looked at her mistress seeking confirmation. Margaret, pale and wretched, nodded and said meekly, "Yes, please refuse admittance when my aunt wants to call on me, Mary. And the same refers to Peter Greywood. He is not welcome here any longer, either. And now, please leave us alone and close the door."

Margaret leaned against John's chest absorbing the warmth emitting from his body, deeply inhaling his musky perfume, that was again intoxicating her senses, making her mind leave the prudent fashion of etiquette, making her crave for more of him, waking her desire to touch his body in a way that would not be lady-like. She sighed deeply, well knowing that for now she had to be thankful for being safe in his protective embrace only.

After a while she explained what had happened while he was gently stroking her back, comforting her as best as he could while trying to balance his temper.

Having finished her story she said, pensively, "John, you came just in time, I mean to London. Without you, I would be alone and helpless," after a short while she carried on, her voice merely a whisper, "I wish we were married already."

John exhaled deeply, with one hand he stroked her head, let his fingers glide down her open hair, with the other he held her body against his; he sensed her fragility through her silken tea gown; thank God, they had agreed to marry soon, thus he could claim her body, then, entirely. He knew he would go mad if anything would happen to her, to that vulnerable creature that was his now to take care of.

"So do I, my love. We will be married soon, I promise. I will have to return to Milton on Sunday and you will accompany me. I cannot allow you to stay here on your own any longer." His voice was firm and hoarse, leaving her no option to refuse.

"But your mother…"

"…will not have any saying in that," he interrupted her, "surely she will not be pleased, though. But she will not dare stand up against our plans, Margaret."

He held her tightly in his arms sensing that her tense body slowly relaxed, she lookd up at him and smiled confidently.

"Yes, John. Let us do it that way. As long as I am close to you, I will not be frightened. Even your mother cannot take that from me." Instantly, she felt remorse because of her unmindful words; it had not been her intention to hurt him by making a snide remark about his mother.

But John did not comment on that, instead he continued caressing her, holding her tighter and pressing her body to his, not allowing any space between them. She was dressed in her tea gown, instead of a stiff and almost suffocating evening garment with all those constricting accessories, so he was able to let his hands glide around the contours of her soft body. It took all of his self-control to master his arousing fierce desire for her.


	12. Chapter 12: On a Northbound Train

**Chapter 12: On A Northbound Train**

So many things had to be taken care of before leaving, time flew away while preparing Margaret's removal from London to Milton. Though she had decided to ship only her personal belongings and dresses for the time being it was nonetheless much more than she had expected. Therefore most of her belongings would be dispatched later, by a freight train.

In the meantime John had completed his business meetings and considering it altogether the travel had been very successful and promising. Orders were placed by old as well as new customers, work was secured for the coming year, possibly the mill had to expand, even.

On Sunday morning they finally headed for the station. There was an unnerving scrimmage, so many people were pacing up and down the platforms, were shouting, somewhere a child was crying, steam engines were brought up to run by boisterous noises, incoming trains were slowed down and decelerated by a squealing of brakes, clouds of steam were rising from the machines, whistles were blowing, announcements were made concerning the arriving or leaving of trains. At last, they reached their train to Milton just in time. Having taken their seats, they could relax a little, could calm down their frayed nerves, finally. They were heading towards a new life, towards a shared but still veiled future not knowing what it would hold in store for them.

There was another passenger in the coach, an elderly gentleman who was reading a book for a short time, did not pay much attention to them and seemed to take a nap after a while.

Out of courtesy, Margaret and John remained silent, they did not want to disturb him. They sat opposite to each other letting their thoughts stray to the jumble of events that had changed their lives so utterly in the course of the week past. Occasionally they stole a glance at each other.

Time and again, Margaret gazed dreamily at her golden engagement ring with an embedded aquamarine. John had surprised her with that token of love before their dinner the night before. She had been all smiles when he had put it on her left hand ring finger. His warm touch and his nearness had pushed her into a flood of swirling emotions. He had answered with a crooked smile. Holding her glance he had lifted her left hand, kissing it tenderly and pressing it gently against his heart. He had been aglow of happines and he had allowed her to drown in the sparkle of his simmering eyes, had allowed her to share that wordless and precious moment with him. A bashful smile crept across her face now that she recalled it.

John was deeply lost in his own thoughts, was pondering about the recent occurences that had changed his life so utterly. Almost one week ago he had travelled to London, in order to clear the misunderstandings between the two of them. But bringing her home now, had been beyond all hopes and dreams. As sure as anything he would and could never let her go, again.

He knew they would face hard times when Margaret would have to adapt herself to the Milton way of living. He had seen how well she had fit in the glamorous London society; but Milton did not offer anything close to the variety of events and entertainments that London provided. One day, he feared, she might regret the step she was taking now, out of love for him.

'Out of love for him' - these true and sincere yet plain words made his stomach tingle. Love - a strong and sweet feeling of affection, overpowering and all consuming. What had he done to deserve being loved by her? Nothing. And yet she loved him, had been prepared to leave her home, her familiar surroundings, only to follow him to his world, where she would not be welcome as she already knew. And yet she followed him because she loved him. He could not stop repeating these words in his mind: Margaret Hale loved him. He let his eyes secretly stray over to her, for a fleeting moment only, watched her as she was looking down on the engagement ring. Her fingers were tenderly brushing over the gem, a happy smile across her face. Oh, how he loved her.

At last, his mind wandered to Milton and what might wait for him there. A week ago he had that hurtful argument with his mother. Sequences of their heated quarrel were passing his inner eye. His words had been harsh; yet, they had to be said.

He wondered whether his mother might have left Marlborough Mills to live with Fanny in her new house, but that idea did not have a chance to linger in his mind for long. Marlborough Mills and the Thornton House meant the world to his mother, he knew that. Surely she would not give it up easily. An ironic smile made his mouth curve when realizing that his mother was clinging to those unlively buildings so much. Apparently she had created her own world in them. Surely, he would never induce her to leave but he would not hold her back if she decided to go. The wounds she had cut by holding back the information of Margaret's call as well as her letter were too deep, had left scars on his heart and soul. Some wounds would heal slowly, he was aware of that, but some would never. He knew that also and feared that the wounds his mother had left would be of the latter kind.

To come to terms with his mother would be a challenge, not only for him but especially for Margaret. His mother had made no secret of her dislike of that young woman whom he was now bringing home as his fiancée. He was dwelling on future images of the two of them sitting in the drawing room busying themselves with embroidering table cloths or bed covers, talking about patterns or designs, about housewifly chores. But knowing Margaret that would not be realistic. And that would also not correspond to what he would want her to be: the woman at his side not at his mother's.

Surely he would try and help Margaret as much as he could to find her place in the family, he would not force any pattern on her, would leave her to be free and independent, would let her make her own choices. Closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose he lingered on his thoughts, well knowing that his mother would be a tough nut to crack.

Doubts were lurking around his mind questioning whether it had been the right thing to make Margaret leave London but his selfishness had been too strong, his craving for her had bereft him of all sanity and reason. Anyway he hoped that his clouded thoughts would be gone soon and he soothed himself by the idea that he had not forced Margaret to fall for him, it had been her own choice, which instantly brought a smug smile to his face. And then, Milton was not foreign to her, she had been living there in another life, she knew what would be waiting there.

At the next station the elderly men left and they were fortunate to occupy the coach for themselves. As soon as the train left that station they changed places, preferred sitting side by side. Margaret looked dreamily and smiling outside, let the landscape pass her by. With every mile the train was taking her away from London she sensed to distance herself from her former life, to let loose, to let go.

"I…I think it's strange" Margaret started talking hesitantly after a while, "I have left London where I have been living for such a long time of my life, but at the end there was no-one whom I would have wanted to bid farewell, not after what had happened last week."

She cuddled her head against his chest, whereas he had put his head gently on hers, his arm around her shoulders. They were speechless for a while eagerly cherishing their closeness.

"It hurts me, Margaret, to know that my visit has caused you so much trouble. If I had not come to call on you, you would still be the glamorous and adored queen of hearts whom I have admired in the opera," he observed finally.

"My feelings for you are deep and honest," he carried on, "and I would do anything to shield you from harm or pain. But I am also a self-seeker. My egoistical craving for you has gotten the upper hand and has caused you so much trouble," he pulled her closer and spread tender kisses on her head, was pensive again, and then continued, "When I saw you at the opera you looked like a goddess on a pedestal, a place where you belong, dear. Yet, I am disrooting you selfishly."

There was an air of uneasiness disturbing her slightly and she replied in a hushed tone, "but I do not want to be placed on a pedestal….that is something for the dead. I want to _live -_ at your side. So it appears that you are saving me from an idle and vain life," she looked up to smile at him shyly and then whispered, "I love you, John and I will take roots wherever you are."

Again, they sat silently for a while, absorbed in deep thoughts; John was feeling lighthearted again as she had been able to dispel his doubts for the most part. Margaret was still reflecting over her life in London trying to come to a close, finally, being able to concentrate on Milton where her future was waiting, veiled and uncertain, where her soon-to-be mother in law would show her that she was not welcome in Marlborough Mills, was not good enough for her son. Clearly, she was heading for a lot of trouble; that was the price she would have to pay for marrying the man she loved but she was sure he was worth it.

As the sun was constantly shining into the coach, it was heated up after some time, and holding Margaret so close to him, made John feel hot and uncomfortable. Margaret noticed his unease and she whispered, "I would not object if you took off your coat, John. Make yourself comfortable. You know that I am struggling with etiquette and good manners for a while already, but seeing you in a more casual fashion, would do me no harm, surely."

He was grateful for that offer and rose immediately, giving her a shy smile. He took off the long jacket and the cravat. Margaret was amazed to see him like that, in his waist coat, in the white shirt with those loose-fit sleeves, the cuffs tightly enveloping his slender wrists. It had never crossed her mind to think that a man's physical appearance could be so attracting, even if it was only relating to such harmless parts as hands or wrists. But then she had to admit to herself dreamily that she had already marveled at his hands with those long and slim fingers that were so gentle when he had touched her body for the first time. She closed her eyes briefly, breathing in deeply, recalling those exciting moments. When she opened her eyes again she let them roam his face, down to his throat as his slender fingers were just about to open the upper button of his shirt. She had never seen his throat and Adam's apple uncovered before. It was making her blush instantly, but she could not take her preying eyes off of that view, was breathing erratically and panting for air. Not in her wildest dreams had she imagined that under that heavy coat that she had always seen him in, the shape of his body was so well defined, so strong with his broad shoulders and yet so slender at the waist, all so attractive. She would not have objected if he had continued opening the other buttons of his shirt.

John caught her longing look, noticed that she was simmering with excitement. He realized at once, to his amazement as well as selfish pride and satisfaction that her thoughts were again not decent. This woman was so vivid, so alive. Yet, she was still trying to hide her true nature behind that mask of Miss Hale whom he had known in Milton and who had succeeded in creeping under his skin back then. But the woman he was taking home now, made his blood burn in his veins, brought his self-control on the edge of failure. He could not await to unveil the flaming passion of Margaret Thornton, to bury himself into her hotness, into her fire. But for now he had to stop that train of thoughts, otherwise he would have seduced her right there in that coach and he doubted that she would have attempted to hold him back.

Trying hard to control his emotions, he deeply exhaled and smiled at her knowingly. His heated cheeks unearthed his thoughts, he was aware of that.

He sat down again, put his arm around her shoulder, nonetheless, risking being near to her, maybe too near. He turned towards her, his hot breath brushing her cheek, and whispered hoarsely, "That was close, Margaret, we are playing with fire, and don't pretend you don't know what I am talking about," he kissed her on her forehead, gently, "but we have to wait, have to follow the rules."

She nodded and murmured sadly, "I know, John, I know."

They succeeded in withholding their want, indulging in their reveries, for a while.

Later, John fetched Mr. Hale's Plato from his travel bag. He smiled gently at Margaret and said in a velvety tone of voice, "I treasure it, I told you. I take it with me whenever I travel."

Then he opened it carefully and retrieved that dried yellow flower and offered it on his open palm.

"What is that?" her voice was rising in excitement, "it's from Helstone, isn't it? I thought they were all gone, someone told me. Where did you get that from?"

He replied in his smooth voice, "While you travelled to Milton, I was in London, I told you. From there I went to Helstone for a day. I wanted to see where you have been living as a child. I found that rose there, growing on a hedgerow. I had to look hard." He gave her a crooked smile, "It is important to me."

Margaret touched it with trembling fingers, as it brought back memories of her care-free childhood, of her home in Helstone, of the turns her life had taken since then, how the winds of fate had blown her through life like a feather floating in the air until she finally came down again had been caught and sheltered in the hands of that Milton manufacturer at last.

She cuddled up to John, being content and happy, glancing again at her engagement ring. Yes, no matter what was waiting for her there in Milton, she was looking forward to her future with that man beside her.


	13. Chapter 13: A Welcome As Cold As Ice

**Chapter 13: A Welcome As Cold As Ice**

"Tell me it is not true, John, tell me I am only in the middle of a nightmare."

Hannah Thornton was aghast and paced up and down the room, her arms behind her back, one hand holding the other's wrist tightly.

"Me and that woman under one roof, you cannot expect me to agree to that, John," her voice was sharp, her eyes piercing, her face pale.

"You do not know her the way I do, mother," her son had not expected such outburst of emotions. He was angered and the tone of his voice could not be mistaken.

Surely he had anticipated his mother being reserved. Yes, he knew she was not fond of Margaret. But what he saw now in his mother's eyes was sheer hatred, openly shot at Margaret who stood there, aghast and scared, a wounded creature, her self-worth gone, entirely. With her hands folded in her lap, she stared down on the ground, pale, unmoving, abashed like a little child that had done wrong. Where was the proud and courageous woman who had held her ground when Aunt Shaw had come to argue?

"No, you do not know her at all," he finally continued, his voice suddenly tired and broken as realization dawned on him that the situation was more difficult and troublesome than anticipated, "but you will have to get to know her. For heaven's sake, mother, you must."

Hannah shook her head in denial, "There is surely no use in trying. She will never blend in this household, John. She is an indecent and wayward person. Go and pay her a room in a hotel where she can linger and wait for you. This is a well-respected house, there is no space for someone like her, there is no need for someone like her."

She gave her son a last snide glance, turned around and was on her way to leave. When walking past Margaret she stopped briefly and spat at her, "You will not stay here, not for one single night, Miss _Hale_," emphasizing the name 'Hale' in her words.

"Oh, no, Mother," his voice was almost a growl, "there you are mistaken. Margaret will stay here tonight and all nights that come. You can bet on that. You will treat her kindly. You will pay her all due respect. She is the woman I love and she is certainly the woman I will marry. And you will have no saying in that; I will not seek your approval or request your blessing."

Mrs. Thornton turned her head, glaring at her son with wide eyes. Without saying anything else she left, slamming the door behind her. John could not remember having ever witnessed such disrespectful and unseemly behaviour. It was so unlike his mother who usually valued good manners and countenance above all.

He shook his head in disbelief. Surely, he had not expected a warm welcome. But such hostility had been beyond all imagination. In a few long strides he closed the space between him and Margaret sheltering her in his arms and seeking comfort from their embrace as well. He had clearly underestimated his mother's fierce unwillingness entirely.

"You see me shamefaced, Margaret. I have not anticipated her open hatred. I do not understand her reaction, I do not understand anything at all." He slowly shook his head, almost absently.

"Margaret, please forgive me for having exposed you to her ill-bred conduct, but I will not tolerate that," he exhaled deeply and was about to push her back in order to rush after his mother but Margaret was able to withhold him by intensifying her embrace.

"No, John. If you argue with her now, your anger will make you say words that you might regret tomorrow." She paused briefly and then observed in a hushed tone, "Maybe I should stay at a hotel, love."

Reluctantly she was considering what Mrs. Thornton had suggested.

John pressed his forehead against hers and was silent for a short moment pondering over the unpleasant situation, pondering over Margaret's words.

"You are right, I have to calm down first. But I will not allow you to stay in a hotel on your own. No, you will sleep here tonight as all the other nights that will follow." He looked at her, his eyes sad and tired. He noticed and comprehended her aversion.

"Margaret, please, no 'but' now," he whispered.

Sensing his fear of being sandwiched, she nodded, biting on her bottom lip, "I would rather leave the house in this very moment but I do not want to undermine your authority, John, and, moreover, I am reluctant to obey to your mother's wishes."

She dared give him a reassuring smile which he took in gladly, thanking her wordlessly for her understanding by trailing soft kisses on her head, pressing her gently against his body.

"So what do we do now?" he murmured, in a hushed tone of voice, more to himself. With a forced smile playing around his lips he observed, "I suggest to bring you upstairs and show you your room. You can make yourself comfortable while I go over to the mill and check whether there is anything important in the mail waiting for me. Later we meet down here for our evening meal. Or do you want to have dinner at a restaurant in case you want to avoid my mother?"

In truth she would have wanted to run away and never come back to that cold and hostile house. But for John's sake she could not and asked him in return, "what would you prefer? And answer honestly, please." Again that small smile.

He took her hands letting his thumbs gently rub over her knuckles, his eyes smouldering with deep emotion but also pleading for understanding, "I prefer staying at home, we have to hold our ground, Margaret, though it might cause discomfort if my mother were to go at you. Be assured I will be prepared this time, I promise, but it might be unpleasant for you nonethless."

She cleared her throat, "If this is what you want, then we will do it." Her smile was still small but comforting.

Entwining their fingers John and Margaret went upstairs to the guest room that had meanwhile been prepared for her. They were holding hands gently, sharing their warmth. In the room John took his fianceé in his arms pressing her fragile body tenderly against his. He felt how she slowly relaxed as she leaned in to his physical and emotional closeness.

"Do not worry too much, love. We will get through this nightmare together, believe me," he was trying to soothe her, "Can I leave you now, Margaret? Or is there anything else I can do for the moment?"

His warm eyes reassured her.

"No, thank you, John, everything will be fine," she smiled bravely. A last tender kiss and he was gone.

She shut the door and whispered unheard and teary eyed, "I love you, John. I hope I will be strong enough."

Then she arranged her belongings, still a bit frightened, as if she expected Mrs. Thornton to rush in at any minute.

Sometime later, there was indeed a knock on the door , Margaret flinched, almost scared to death. But it was only a servant carrying a vase with a bouquet of sunflowers.

"These are from Mr. Thornton, Ma'am. Where shall I put them?"

Margaret asked her to place them on a side table in the small chamber adjounred to her bedroom. She glanced at the bouquet smilingly as her thoughts wandered to John again. He was so caring, trying to make her feel comfortable, trying to make good on what his mother had done wrong. She cherished his endeavors to make her feel being home, to provide some warmth in the icy atmosphere of the Thornton House. All of a sudden it occurred to her that he had grown up in this deadness and emptyness, as a child, as a youngster, had been surrounded by these cold walls, lacking the vital feelings of security and happiness. It gave her a pang in the heart, let shivers run through her body. She felt the urge to make good on the deficiencies in his life. A strong wish to return his mindfulness was sprouting in her mind.

Spontaneously, though a bit frightened, she walked over to Mrs. Thornton's room.

The moment she wanted to knock on the door, she was completely lacking her courage. She hesitated and considered leaving when the door opened all of a sudden and Hannah Thornton stood in the frame, her face severe, tired and hostile at the same time.

"What do you want?" were her harsh words.

"I…I came… to talk to you, ….Mrs. Thornton," Margaret stammered meekly. "I wonder whether there is a way…to make peace,…for John's sake ..."

"There will be peace when you have left, Miss _Hale_," again that open hatred in her eyes.

"Tell me, please, why do you hate me so much, what have I done to you?" Margaret replied, slowly regaining her poise, her voice steadying, "can't we sit down and talk in a civil and courteous manner?"

Mrs. Thornton looked down on her snidely, stepped back and with a gesture of her hand ushered her in.

The two women sat for a while, silently, neither of them prepared to make a move. Finally, Margaret repeated her question, "Why do you hate me so much?"

"You have the nerve to ask me? You of all people? Can you imagine what it is like to see someone suffer who is dear to you knowing that you cannot help? Can you fathom what it is like to stand aside and watch that person being pushed back, being rejected as unworthy by someone who feels herself to be superior, who shows an overly high opinion of herself, baselessly? I have seen him in pain, Miss Hale. I have seen him lacking all self-esteem, making sheep's eyes at someone whom he had placed on a pedestal but who looked down on him in haughtiness and falsehood. And you ask me why I hate you?"

The decrying and unjust words were hard to swallow. But imagining John's suffering because of her rejection broke her heart and turned her speechless.

Mrs. Thornton was pensive for a moment, her mind was wandering. Then she continued in a more civil voice, as if speaking to herself, almost, "Yes I am proud of my son, no other mother could be prouder, I have made him tough and disciplined to be able to work hard to lift us all out of that misery, to pay back the debts, that his late father had left him, had climbed up high to reach his standing in life, to obtain recognition, to rise up to where he belongs. His way in life had always been straight and honest, but when you appeared he started to falter, to divert, to distract himself, Miss Hale. I can never forgive you that. I saw him suffer when you had rebuffed him; to witness such pain broke my heart. And you ask why I hate you?"

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, forcing back the tears that were apparently risig, and then continued talking.

"Notwithstanding anything that had made you change your point of view now, you have refused him, once, because of your haughtiness, because he is not a titled gentleman. But he has earned more money and power than many of your high classed members of that idle society of the South who value birth and breeding above all but who can do no better than spend money they have not worked for, they have not earned. But times have changed, the empire is led by men, like my son, who have ambitions and visions. The empire is strong and prosperous is leading in the world thanks to men like my son. The woman at his side should be above reproach, will have to stand behind, will have to support and honour him, will have to take care of his family, of his children, will have to be the angel of the house, if you know at all what that means. He does not need a wilful person like you are, Miss Hale. He should choose a docile and flawless woman who knows her place, not someone like you who is craving for power over him. You want to be part of this household, even dream of running it? You will never be, I can promise you that, Miss Hale. Take your riches and go back to where you came from."

Margaret stared at her in shock, the words were harsh and unjust. Finally, she was able to reply, "I told you once that I made a big mistake when I misjudged his true value, Mrs. Thornton. Fortunately life has given me a second chance and I will not let it slip through my fingers again. I will stand up for him, I can promise you that. I once thought that you were fighting for him like a lioness, but I was mistaken, you are not fighting for him but for your own sake, in truth you do not want any changes to happen, want to cling to a life where time stands still. You want to be the one who sways power over him, you want to be the one who pulls the strings,.. "

She was instantly interrupted by Mrs. Thornton, "And now you think that you are going to pull the strings? You want to…."

But Margaret did not let her carry on, either. She was infuriated.

"Oh, no, I will not pull any strings. He is able to walk on his own quite well, but you have failed to see that, Mrs. Thornton. You say that the empire needs men with ambitions and visions, and there you are right. And surely he is one of them. But aren't there always strong women behind those men? Like you have been, once? But you are not helping him any longer, you are confining him, instead."

Margaret took a deep breath to steady her nerves, pondering whether her words had been too frank. But she could not take back any of them and on second thought she did not want to either.

"Mrs. Thornton, I do not see that we will ever become friends, but don't you think that we should try to get along - for John's sake?" Margaret rose and offered her hand, "What do you say, can't we start anew?" her eyes were pleading but the glance that she got in return was icy.

"You better take your leave now," Hannah Thornton responded unfeelingly, raised and opened the door, with a motion of her head she ushered her out, glaring at her in defiance.

It had been necessary to talk in a plain language, yet, Margaret was disappointed about the result. Mrs. Thornton did not show any sign of understanding or willingness to change her opinion. She feared that her advance had possibly made things worse.

When she returned to her room, she was already awaited by John who was standing near that table with the sunflowers, frowning, his glance brooding. "Where have you been?" his voice was anxious as if fearing to know the answer already.

She exhaled deeply and said, "I have been talking to your mother, I have tried to solve the problem that she has with me, but I fear it was all in vain. I should have refrained from that stupid attempt, John. I am sorry. I am afraid things are worse now."

She looked at him, uncertainty written all over her face. He closed the gap between them and embraced her. "She is unapproachable, now. I think she'll be in need of time to accept the new situation. For many years it has been only the two of us, and Fanny, of course. But now that a daughter in law will move in, she feels insecure This is going to be a turning point in her life and she is not prepared to walk that path, … at least not yet."

"If it were only that, if it were only a question of time, then it would not bother me, but I think there is more to that. You told me that she has been trying to pair you off to Ann Latimer. With her, she does apparently not have any difficulty to accept her as daughter in law," Margaret replied pondering about her worry.

"No, I know. I think the reason is that you are too stubborn and wilful in her eyes," and with a dreamily ardent sigh, he continued, "whereas Ann is docile and affectionate, obedient and beautiful." A smug grin around his lips gave him away and Margaret responded by thumping his belly.

"Ouch, you hurt me." Then he claimed her lips for a couple of passionate kisses.

Margaret was grateful for those short moments of intimacy in his gentle embrace. Notwithstanding the difficulties they were encountering with his mother, John was in high spirits, was not prepared to see the dark clouds that were gathering on the horizon. Maybe her view on things was too gloomy; anyway his good mood gave her hope.

As Margaret had expected Mrs. Thornton did not join them for dinner. So John and Margaret had their meal in a silent and tensed atmosphere. John was trying hard to balance his temper whereas Margaret was pondering sadly about the situation, was wondering whether she had been too optimistic about her return to Milton.

They set up their their plans for the following day and retired early, each one yearning for the other, missing the closeness they had shared while on the train.


	14. Chapter 14: Adapting To The Milton Ways

**Chapter 14: Adapting To The Milton Ways**

Before leaving London, the weather had still been agreeable there. The mornings and evenings had been mild. The sun was shining from a mostly cloudless sky, had turned the shading of the leaves from that rich summer green into those lovely and warm autumn colours sketching an air of peace and harmony to be cherished and remembered when the winter would come.

But now she had to face the northern climate with its bitter coldness and its descending fog letting barely pass the sunrays and announcing the changes that would come with the bleakness of a harsh winter. Before long a blanket of greyness would be spread over everything that once was living and sprouting, but would soon be wasting away.

Margaret was chilled to the bone when she arrived at her mother's grave.

_'__Oh, mother, so much has happened. I do not know where to start. But finally, fate has opened my eyes and let me realize the true and good nature of John Thornton. I think you have already foreseen that. I was misguided by my own arrogant blindness. It nearly cost me the love of my life. You have always warned me that I was tending to make rash decisions which I would regret later. You were right, mother, you were so utterly right. I have realized the foolishness of my actions, meanwhile. And thanks to John's hardheadedness everything has turned to the better. But still, there is a foreboding of harm and sorrow rising, dear mother, there is a storm coming up, the dark clouds are already gathering on the horizon. I am in despair, mother. Mrs. Thornton hates me and I do not know why. I wish you were here to give me advice, to guide me.' _

Her voiceless words remained unanswered. A sudden but gentle breeze blew over the graveyard, the leaves of the trees were swaying and rustling, then it was silent and calm again. Margaret was fighting the tears brimming at the edge of her eyes and turned to leave.

When she arrived at Marlborough Mills, John was already waiting for her in his office.

"You appear to be distressed, Margaret. What is wrong?" in a few long strides he closed the gap between them taking her gently in his arms, trying to give some comfort. She felt cold and insecure.

"I have been to the graveyard, John, to bring some flowers for my mother. Maybe seeing the grave after such a long time disturbed me a little," she said, lost in thought, "I have noticed that it is well-tended. I wonder….who has ….have you….?"

Margaret looked up to him with a questioning glance.

John nodded, "Yes I have arranged that the grave is being cared of. Sometimes, I go and visit it. There were so few things that I could hold on to after you had left, Margaret."

He was pensive for a brief moment and observed, "Isn't it strange to cling to the dead when trying to connect with the living?"

He let his hands wander up and down her spine in order to reassure her. After a while he sensed that her stiff and cold body was relaxing now that she leaned against his chest breathing calmly.

"Yes, John," she reflected after a while, "It is strange, indeed, but at times you see no other way, you try to reach out for someone who is long gone, for something that is no more. You hold out your hand but it is not taken."

There was a knock on the door and reluctantly they had to withdraw from their nearness. To Margaret's great surprise Higgins entered, he was all smiles when he recognized her.

"Didn't believe the master that you're back, Margaret," a big grin on his face, his cap in his hands. Margaret stepped over to shake hands with him.

"Oh, Nicholas, it is so good to see you again. How are you doing?"

"Fine, Margaret, just fine. Now that work's back again. T'was a hard time without it," he glanced briefly at Mr. Thornton.

Then, still grinning at Margaret Nicholas embraced her like old friends would do, "I've heard already that you've finally come to reason, Margaret. T'is really good news. You and Mr. Thornton, I mean." Both of them were slightly abashed and Higgings finally released her from his embrace.

"Well, Margaret, I wish you all the best for your future."

His face was still beaming though his voice was severe. His words were simple, but were all that was needed to be said in that moment, were all that was needed to be heard.

John had watched that szene with squinted eyes. He felt a sharp stab of pain and jealousy deep down inside himself having to realize that Higgings could provide more warmth and friendlyness than Margaret had found in his own house.

After an embarrassed silence John cleared his throat and proposed, "Well, Margaret, my dear, I suggest we all go over to the canteen for lunch. What do you say?" looking at Margaret anxiously, taking her hand to kiss it tenderly and locking his sad eyes with hers. She nodded in compliance, her good mood had returned. She would have agreed to anything that did not involve John's mother.

Mary Higgins was all smiles when she recognized Margaret entering the canteen with the master of the mill and her father. Though she was usually a distanced and shy person, she came running and hugged her friend cordially. There was no need of exchanging words between the young women. They would catch up on the happenings of the past months, later. For now it was sufficient to embrace each other.

In the afternoon Margaret paid a visit to the Bell House in Winston Street to check on the progress of the renovation she had initiated when she had come to Marlborough Mills six months ago.

Mr. Bell used to stay in that house whenever he had returned to Milton which was on rare occasions only. Somehow he had been reluctant to come to his birth place more often, but it was too late now to try and discover the true reason behind that.

The house had not been furnished as nicely as the Bell House in London, the interior was lacking taste and warmth. Despite that, the house itself was to her liking and she had decided to have it renovated in a more modern style. So, almost six months ago, she had made all the arrangements with craftsmen and dealers of Milton to have the house renewed and redecorated. What to do with it once the works were finalized she had not considered at that time. Possibly she would lease it. Milton was a prospering town and she had expected no difficulies in finding a tenant, especially because of the location of that house with a nice backyard in an affluent neighborhood. Moreover, it was situated on the far side of the mills, was not affected much by their smoky emissions.

Now, Margaret was pleased to find the house more or less ready to be put to use soon. Finally, she gave the last instructions for a quick completion, although she could not fathom the reason behind her hastiness.

Upon her return to Marlborough Mills, when entering the hallway, she ran into Mrs. Thornton. Her icy glance made Margaret shiver, made her want to turn on the spot and run. But she bravely mustered her courage and walked in, greeting kindly, "Good evening, Mrs. Thornton."

"So, you are still here," Mrs. Thornton pretended to be surprised; she had not changed her hostile attitude. Her cold eyes were appraising Margaret's appearance with a scornful smile playing around her lips.

"Oh, look, whom we have here," Fanny's high-pitched voice was unnerving as she came around the corner to stand beside her mother, also showing her disapproval of Margaret who in turn tried, nonetheless, to keep her polite attitude.

"Fanny, I wish you a good evening," Margaret said hesitantly, closing the gap between them and putting forth her hand.

But Fanny refused to take it. Instead she linked arms with her mother, gazing at Margaret snidely while letting her eyes wander up and down the features of the woman who had returned to marry her brother. Fanny felt a twinge of envy for Margaret's outstanding appearance. She might not like her but she was jealous at her good taste and elegant style of dressing.

Margaret again sensed the coldness of that house, of its people, who were refusing to accept her on account of reasons still veiled.

"I go upstairs to change for dinner, Mrs. Thornton" Margaret uttered, again annoyed at her meek voice.

"Well, if there will be a dinner at all, Miss Hale," John's mother told her icily, "I will stay with my daughter for a couple of days. If you have not given instructions to the kitchen then the meal will be very poor, I am afraid. Instead of gallivanting around the town you should have busied yourself with this household, now that you have come to claim it as it is apparently your scheme."

"What…what do you mean by that?" Margaret was taken aback.

"I mean that it is obviously your scheme to seize what others have worked for." Again that look of pure hatred in Mrs. Thornton's eyes.

"But, Mrs. Thornton, I do not want to…." Margaret stammered in return but was silenced by John's mother at once.

"I care not what you want or what you don't want, Miss Hale. For me it is obvious what you have come here for. I do not need your fake excuses. But my son is too obsessed by you to see reason, to see the truth behind your pretty face." With those harsh words she turned to get her long jacket.

Margaret kept standing in the hallway, petrified and hurt. When Hannah Thornton walked past the young woman, she stopped briefly and hissed, "Yesterday you said that you would stand up for my son. I tell you today: so will I. I will fight for him. And, Miss Hale, you have already lost, I can assure you." With that she and her daughter left.

When John came home a short while later, he was surprised to find his mother gone and Margaret crying in her room.

"What has happened now again?" he had not seen his fiancée drenched in tears like that before. He was filled with remorse and shame when he heard about the argument. It took quite a while to appease Margaret.

At last she agreed to follow him downstairs in order to check what the kitchen held in store. The cook had been sent home already and the kitchen help was only able to assort some leftovers from lunch. So their meal was rather meager but they did not complain.

"Honestly, I do not comprehend my mother anymore. It is too late to call on her right now, but I will go and see her tomorrow morning. I am afraid you will have to come with me, Margaret. She has to explain her inexcusable behavior and offer you her apologies. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive her."

"I would rather not go, John, you know that," Margaret was aghast at his suggestion.

"How else can we solve the problem? Any ideas?" he was slightly annoyed about her reluctance, it was obvious.

"No of course not," Margaret was a bit touchy, as well, "I think I am the victim here. How am I supposed to hold a conclusion in this matter." Her reply was rather snappish which John registered with surprise.

"Margaret, please let's not start arguing about it. It's really not worth it. If you don't want to go then I will not force you, of course . Besides, I am still of the opinion that my mother will see reason soon. I think it is only a question of time." He gave her a reassuring glance. "I know you are tired, Margaret, but would you join me in the drawing room for a while, nonetheless? I need some time to calm down and recall the events of the day." His eyes were pleading.

But Margaret shook her head slightly, "No, John, I am sorry but I am completely exhausted. I think I better retire."

She felt so unbearingly sad how things appeared to have changed between them, so suddenly, so soon. She could not deny that she was displeased about his attitude. Apparently he was still of the opinion that it would only be a question of time until his mother would see reason and bow. But Margaret was sure that she would not.

She pushed back her chair and rose. John did the same, walked over to her and kissed her on her forehead, "Have a good night, Margaret," he said short-tempered and disappointed, turned and went over to the drawing room.

As usual, when he was alone, he took off his coat and cravat and opened the upper button of his shirt, sat down at the small table near the window, took a cigar out of the box and poured himself a brandy. He was pondering about the sudden changes that had come so soon after he had found his happiness only a couple of days before. Yesterday his feelings and hopes had taken him high into the sky and today all the warmth and harmony he had shared with Margaret seemed to be gone.

He was full of regrets for having disrooted Margaret so abruptly. He had forced her to come with him at once, he had not given her a chance to think it over. Now, she was stranded here at this barren place that had brought back sad memories, that had cast hostility and denial, only. How could she take roots on poisoned soil? How could she sprout and blossom in an environment that refused to give her warmth, where a cold wind was blowing? To endure all this only to satisfy his own egoistical craving for her. He felt low and forlorn. His longing for her nearness was rising but she had not been willing to comply with his request to join him for the evening. Maybe she was too tired, maybe she was pretending only, did not want to be close to him now. But how could he be so selfish to expect her to be there for him. It should have been him to comfort her. He realized that he had failed her.

Finally, he retired for the night. Upstairs, he stopped at Margaret's door and pressed an ear against it to eavesdrop. To hear her weeping silently ripped deeply into his heart. A sudden impulse made him want to enter the room, to comfort her against all rules of appropriate behaviour. But then he reluctantly withdrew and went to his own chamber.

While preparing for the night he let his eyes stray down to the bedside locker. On top of Mr. Hale's Plato he had put the booklet about the language of flowers that he had bought in London. He sat down on the bed and took it in both of his hands, very carefully, as if he feared it could break. He recalled that morning when he had entered the flower shop spontaneously in order to obtain a flower for Margaret. He second-guessed now whether he had bought the thornless rose had he known its meaning already then. Most likely he would have lacked the courage. Smilingly he realized that fate had been on his side that morning leaving him oblivious to that special significance but pushing him to his luck.

All of a sudden pictures of Margaret flashed through his mind when she had come to bid farewell, after her father's death, before she was leaving Milton to return to London, when he had wanted to comfort her by a simple embrace but then had shied away like a coward. Now he was acting in the same faint-hearted manner. In London, a couple of days before he had pledged to himself to protect that vulnerable creature and take care of her. But what was it that he was doing now? Turning his back on her again.

Disregarding all rules of appropriate behavior, he walked over to her room, knocked on the door and tiptoed in silently.


	15. Chapter 15: Please Don't Go

**Chapter 15: Please Don't Go**

Margaret had been crying in John's arms for hours. He whispered sweet nothings time and again, lay beside her holding her in his gentle embrace, comforted her with his warmth and soft kisses. He simply provided the feeling that she was not alone in her struggle against the viciousness of his mother. At one stage during the night he had asked whether she would prefer if he left but she had clung to him so tightly, shaking her head, whispering silently, "No, stay, please don't go."

Finally her fatigue overpowered her, she dozed off and fell asleep, his arms around her. John had intended to wait for a couple of moments before leaving but then his mental and physical exhaustion made him give in to his own need of rest.

When he awoke it was dawning already. Margaret was still asleep, cuddled up to him like a child. It was such a lovely view, seeing her in the dim light bundled up in his arms, slumbering so peacefully and breathing deeply with a small smile playing around her lips. He yearned for being married to her, to lie side by side like lovers would, but he was not allowed to yet. Before rising, he kissed her softly on the cheek making her sigh tenderly, "John" and smile a little more. She had a good dream, that was obvious. That thought sent a shiver down his spine, knowing that she was dreaming of him.

Now, in the early morning hours the house was slowly awakening, muffled noises could be heard from the ground level. Still indulging in his fantasy, John opened the door silently and sneaked out in order to return to his chamber. But fate had already sent a servant busying herself in the hallway just in that moment when John was leaving Margaret's room. He was aghast, well knowing that rumors would be spreading soon. There was no use of asking the servant to silence her tongue, she was already rushing to the kitchen.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose to make his mind work. Clearly he had made a grave mistake but there was nothing to be done about it now. The news of Mr. Thornton creeping out of Miss Hale's room in the early morning hours would soon reach his mother, would be grist to her mill. At least her reproach would not come as a surprise. He decided to go to the office earlier than usual before paying his mother a visit.

* * *

When Margaret awoke her head was aching, apparently from crying so fiercely. While slowly adjusting to the new day, she kept her eyes shut for a while.

She only had a vague memory of the night before, could only recall that she was unable to stop her weeping. But finally she had fallen asleep dreaming that John had come to soothe her, to take her in his strong arms and shield her from the harshness of life. That dream had been so intense that it was still in her mind when she woke up, was so vivid as if he had been there in reality.

Tentatively and with a spark of hope she put her hand on the side of the bed where she remembered John from her dream, but the place was empty, the sheets were cold. She was aching for his tender and loving embrace, for his shelter. Turning to the side, she cuddled the soft cushions that lay beside her. To her utmost amazement she recognized John's scent of musk and spices lingering on the fabric which she inhaled deeply, sending her senses and longing for him on the alert at once. Closing her eyes again she sighed moonily. Her heart was racing. With closed eyes she recalled those moments of innocent intimacy that had not sprung from a lifelike dream but from true reality. Yet, a guilty conscience was slowly rising, their gentle embrace of the night past had clearly been breaking all rules, but it did not have a chance to ripen. They would be married soon enough, they were meant for each other, no-one had been harmed by the tenderness they had shared in her bed.

* * *

"Have you lost your brains, John?"

Hannah Thornton was pacing up and down the drawing room in the Watson House while John was standing at the window, looking out watching the withered leaves fall. Again the weather was dull and foggy; the sun would not have a chance to break through in smoky Milton. His mind strayed to the idyllic scene of the backyard of the Bell House when he first stood in front of Margaret's home in London, brought back the peace and harmony that lingered there, that he had found only recently to let it slip through his fingers again. He could not believe that only one week had passed since then.

He did not respond to his mother's disrespectful abuse. Trying to balance his temper he turned around and sat down on a chair near the window, staring at her in anger. He had puckered his lips, holding back the harsh words that he had apparently already formed on his tongue.

"What has she done to lure you to her room? I told you she is not good for you, she is indecent and has no manners. Her behavior has shown that now, she is a woman of easy virtue, her standards of morality are low, if not non-existent, John. When will you finally understand that?" she shook her head in disbelief, paused briefly to draw a deep breath before continuing, "I have taught you to be disciplined, to lead a life of honour, to stay away from those impure and amoral..."

" Enough! Stop insulting the woman I love, mother!" he was infuriated because of her trying to drag someone as innocent and pure as Margaret in the mud. Exhaling deeply he continued with a tremor of anger in his voice, "Though it should be none of your concern and though I do not feel compelled to justify any of my doings I can assure you that nothing inappropriate or immoral has happened between Margaret and myself."

"Nobody cares about that, John. Grasp that. When do you comprehend the rules? You have been seen coming out of her room, that is sufficient evidence of your improper behavior. It will tarnish your good name. But she…" Hanna Thornton was struggling for words, "she has now lost all reputation, once and for all, it cannot be whitewashed anymore. Like back then during the strike when she had already disobeyed the rules of mannerly behaviour so blatantly. She is lacking all sense of shame. It is so obvious, it's all in her blood. She is a fallen woman. No honorable man would marry her, now."

"Don't be ridiculous, mother. We are practically married," John was annoyed, he felt the bile rising. "Had you not treated her so very basely and so very cruelly there would not have been any ground for that deplorable state she was in. Your hostile attitude has urged her into my arms, in the first place. And I repeat, she is my fiancée and there is no indecency in comforting her. I am not prepared to discuss your foolish rules of etiquette or moral visions any longer. But I warn you, do not add fuel to the flames anymore."

Hannah Thornton tried to balance her temper, to regain her poise and mannerly attitude. Finally, she said in a calm voice, "John, I am only trying to protect you, make you see reason."

Meanwhile John had placed his elbows on the armrests of his chair, had buried his face in his hands in a pondering silence, but slowly shaking his head in denial of the words that he heard.

After a short pause she continued, "What is it that is drawing you to that nefarious woman? You are a man of good standing, you are well-respected in the Milton society, you could marry any nubile woman in town. They are all making eyes at you, they are all waiting in line. Why must it be that exuberant person with her airs and graces? She will make a fool of you, John, open your eyes," Hannah Thornton's voice, although firm in the beginning, was meanwhile losing its power. "You have to send her back or she will be your ruin. You will never be able to subdue her."

John stared at her, wide-eyed and not understanding, "How dare you talk like that. I do not want to subdue her, I want to love her. I told you once you do not know her the way I do…"

But Mrs. Thornton interrupted him instantly, "No, I do not know her the way you do. Yet, I know her, John, I know her and where she comes from."

"What is that supposed to mean, mother? You cannot blame her for having been forced to live here in reduced circumstances because of her father's crisis of faith."

"Crisis of faith," his mother repeated the last words mockingly but also with a meaningful nuance that did not go unnoticed by her son.

He frowned, pondering about the significance of her talking, "What do you hide behind your weasel words? I know you well enough to notice that there is more to it, more than you have let on. So what is it? Let's set the record straight, once and forever."

With a forced smile Hannah Thornton repeated, "I do not hide anything," she was surprised how easily the false words left her mouth, "It is only that, while many were hailing Mr. Hale for his courage to stand up for his opinion, I had gained the impression that, for the women, it all had turned out to be a punishment."

"A punishment? For what?" John insisted but his mother was reluctant to say anything else.

"John, we should stop here," her voice was extraordinarily sharp. After a brief pause, she carried on, "What do you intend doing now in order to solve the problem with that woman?"

"What problem? There is no problem, we are going to marry. I am on my way to arrange the wedding formalities. We will be married before long and then I can walk in and out of her room as it pleases me," his words were harsher than he had meant, his temper was still on edge.

"So you are not prepared to follow my advice, John?" she inquired, defeated.

"No, mother, it is not a good advice, and you know that," he rose to take his leave.

He stopped at the door and without turning around to face her, he asked, "Do you intend to return to Marlborough Mills?"

Hannah Thornton noticed that it was not a plea, just a simple question as if asked out of curiosity. She felt a slight hurt and after some pensive moments she replied silently, "I will consider it."

"Fine. But whenever you will come back, I clearly expect you to apologize to Margaret."

Mrs. Thornton paled. She had not anticipated such harsh demand from her son, she was hurt and annoyed. Apparently that woman had already gained more influence on him as she had feared.

* * *

When John was out on the street again, he breathed deeply. The cold air helped calming his heated nerves. He decided to take a walk to the registry authorities in order to arrange the wedding formalities. On his way he stopped at a jeweler's shop to order her wedding ring and then proceeded to the civil registrar to give notice of his intended marriage with Miss Hale. In a fortnight she would be his officially and he hoped that the disturbance between his mother and Margaret would be settled by then.

Finally, he returned to Marlborough Mills. Before resuming his work in the office he wanted to see Margaret and found her in the drawing room, seated where his mother used to sit. A small smile crept over his face.

"Margaret, how are you doing?" he walked over to her. She rose and flung into his arms, visibly relieved to have him back again.

"Oh, John, I have missed you so much," and then whispering, "your embrace, your touch, your nearness. I am sorry for having been so touchy yesterday." She fluttered her eyes up to him, smiling ruefully.

The day before, still, she had considered herself being the only victim in this affair. But then it had dawned on her that he himself was a victim, too. The arrows aiming at her were shot by his mother, that must be a painful and traumatic experience for him also.

"You do not have to apologize for anything, love. But I have to." and he continued in a hushed tone, "When I left your room this morning, one of the servants had seen me. I am sorry, I have been too careless."

Margaret blushed instantly, could only muster a "Oh, I see." She leaned her face against his chest, to bury it there, wrapped in his scent. "I feel a bit sheepish about it. But tell me, have I lost my honour, now?"

"I am afraid, it is not as funny as you think," he was a bit annoyed about her reaction, "When I called on my mother this morning she already knew. Rumors and gossip travel fast in this town. Have you noticed anything, any change in the servants' behavior?"

After a few moments while recalling the contacts she had with the servants, she replied, "not really, they appear to be a bit reserved, though."

Margaret had meanwhile put her arms around his waist to cuddle up to him while his arms were embracing her tightly, pressing her head to his body. She was intrigued by the movement of his chest while he was breathing deeply. Being held in his shelter she sensed that he was giving off an air of trustworthiness, of strength, of security. She would never be lost or alone as long as he cared for her like that.

"I knew that I would not be showered with compliments when I came here, John. But I have not expected so much hatred. It's harder than I thought."

"I agree, Margaret. It is, indeed, harder than expected. I hope my mother will come to her senses soon. Once she will return to Marlborough Mills the situation will be rectified. She has always been of great support to me and I honestly trust that she will be the same for you."

He pressed her again to this body but sensed her stiffening.

"Don't be afraid, Margaret. She will assist you, I can assure you."

But Margaret was not convinced; doubts were lurking beneath the surface of her smile.

"Let's change over to a more pleasurable topic." John was smiling shyly, his voice hoarse and seducing, "The kitchen is not working, I guess. So, I suggest we are going out for dinner, showing Milton what a treasure will take up residence here."

"Shouldn't we maintain a low profile, now that the gossip is spreading?" Margaret was anxious to know. Clearly she would have preferred to stay at home.

John shook his head and replied, "No, Margaret, I don't think that would be a good idea. There is nothing wrong in what we have done, there is no reason to hide in shame or guilt, love, and that's what we are going to demonstrate. So, you should get dressed up in one of your stunning gowns." He gave her a smug smile and continued, "I have arranged the wedding formalities today, we will get married in a fortnight, my queen of hearts. We have to celebrate this in honour of the occasion."

Having said that, he lowered his head to claim her lips for several heated kisses. Reluctantly at first, she finally gave in, most willingly. The sensation was still too new, too overwhelming, she could not resist his power to seduce her. He possessed that kind of magic that put her under his spell, especially when it came to his mesmerizing her by his eyes and his voice and, most of all, by his touch.

She remembered his charisma from her first time in Milton, or when they met during the Great Exhibition, his quality to fascinate others when speaking to them. But that had been exercised on a business platform only, back then. It was apparent that he was quick at learning. He had transformed his abilities to the terrain of personal affairs now. His compelling attractiveness, both in looks and speaking, had inspired her devotion to him, had simply made her helpless.

* * *

Later, in that noble restaurant – Margaret was surprised that there was one that could compete with the places they had in London – she felt the inquisitive looks of the other guests on her. She could not quite determine whether it was pure curiosity cast at a new arrival in town or whether they knew who she was and who had lain in her bed last night. Anyway, she did not sense any kind of animosity towards her, whether they were good at hiding their thoughts she did not know, though.

Margaret enjoyed the evening. The past two days were rather annoying and frustrating and the change to the better was almost overdue . John was also in a good mood, the prospects of being married in a fortnight made him exude his charms towards her, shower her with compliments. She cherished these moments with him, seeing that he had been able to peel off his own disturbances as well.

The evening went on pleasantly until, almost at the end of their dinner, Fanny and her husband walked in. As soon as Fanny recognized her brother and Margaret, she came closer, smirking and talking in an almost shrieking tone, "Oh, look, what a surprise. Ms. Ever-so-Perfect-and-Decent having a night on the town. Do you know already for whom you will leave your door open, tonight?"

John rose from his seat instantly, infuriated, grabbed his sister's arms and shook her almost rudely while spitting out through gritted teeth, "Behave yourself, Fanny. You are annoying."

Open-mouthed, Mr. Watson came trotting behind his wife, entirely taken aback by that incident. John hissed at his brother in law, angered, "If you can't handle her in public, then you should stay at home and teach her manners, Watson."

Mr. Watson was aghast, both by his wife's scene as well as John's rough reaction. He was not a man who liked to draw public attention like that. He took Fanny's hand and spoke to her under his breath, "My dear, that was not nice. We better leave."

Fanny apparently insisted but she could not shake off her husband's tight grip and had to follow him like an undutiful child.

The head waiter approached John and Margaret and apologized for the disturbing incident. John had meanwhile sat down again, balancing his temper and replied, calmly, "Such an outburst could not have been anticipated. I trust my fiancée will get over this indignity soon." He gave her an encouraging smile, seeing that she had gone pale, panting for air and looking down on her folded hands.

When sensing that John was observing her, waiting for a reply, she raised her head, glancing at him, then at the waiter and was nodding. Finally she turned her view back to her folded but trembling hands. Yet, she was speechless still. The waiter bowed and left their table while the other guests resumed their meals, talking in lower voices than before. Apparently they had enough topics of conversation, now.

"John,…I would…" her voice was meek and she was silenced by him instantly.

"No, Margaret. I know what you want." His reply came in a low voice, for the others not to hear. "I do appreciate that and be assured you have all my sympathy. But we cannot leave now. We have not done anything wrong, we don't have to run or hide in shame. Margaret, please."

He raised his glass for a toast. As soon as Margaret had lifted hers he said in his velvety baritone, "To the most beautiful lady I have ever seen in Milton."

John had toasted in a similar way in London already, it must have been a lifetime ago. But it still sent a smile to her face, a small one, though, but let it reach her eyes, made them sparkle. She brought the glass to her mouth, still smiling, locking her eyes with his, taking a sip of the wine.

"I love you," she mouthed shyly, the incident with Fanny forgotten for the moment.


	16. Chapter 16: Turning Another Page

**Chapter 16: Turning Another Page**

The days that followed were filled with preparations for the wedding and writing the invitations.

Having reconsidered the circumstances, mainly the shortage of time to prepare a big event and moreover the tense situation in the Thornton family, John and Margaret had decided to make their wedding a very quiet affair at the Thornton house, with only a few guests being present during the ceremony itself and inviting more to the reception afterwards.

So when the day was there at last, Henry Lennox was attending the bride. He was the closest to family she had and without hesitation he had agreed to take part in the ceremony. Apparently, he had buried his own hopes to marry Margaret long ago, at least he did not show any aversion to her groom anymore, like he had done when both men had met during the Great Exhibition.

Since Margaret did not have a chance to robe in a fancy wedding dress, she had paid special attention to the clothes she would be wearing for the travel afterwards and that she was wearing already now for the ceremony, a stunning ensemble made of grey silk with a tone-on-tone floral pattern. She simply looked beautiful and adorable in that elegant attire.

A ripple of excitement spread through the group of guests when she was walking in, her hand on the arm of Henry Lennox. Margaret had not wanted John to see her before the wedding commenced and now John stood there, with lifted eyebrows and open-mouthed, staring at her, a you-always-know-how-to-surprise-me-beam across his face. She returned his smile timidly, her nervousness was obvious but was lessening with every step she took towards her almost husband. And finally she was there, stood before him, was looking into a pair of sparkling eyes, was being wedded to her king of hearts.

Later, during the reception, she had time to talk to Henry Lennox. He and Mrs. Smythers were the only guests who had come from London. Aunt Shaw had not even replied to the invitation whereas Edith had sent a note excusing herself. She was pregnant again and her doctor had given advice not to travel in her condition. But she wished Margaret well.

"Henry", Margaret started, "I thank you for leading me in. I would not have known any other gentleman to assist me here." Her smile was insecure.

"Margaret, it was my pleasure," he replied, "I trust that you have made the right decision. I have realized your husband has qualities that I did not want to see when I had met him for the first time. Anyway, I have to respect your choice. If I cannot be the man at your side I offer you my friendship, instead."

Margaret nodded, gratefully, a warm smile on her face.

For a brief moment Henry was lost in thought and finally continued, "However, I have not expected you to marry so hastily after you have gained your freedom only a short while ago. I have always believed that freedom and independence are so important to you, Margaret."

"Yes, that is surely correct, Henry, but I do not consider my marriage with John as a confinement. He is so generous and he will not refuse me anything."

She smiled at him but an uneasiness was taking hold of her mind. Reluctantly, she had to admit to herself that his words contained some truth, indeed. Circumstances had pushed her into this hurried marriage.

"I hope you will not be disappointed, Margaret." Henry observed pensively. "Oh, by the way I have prepared the papers in order to assign your property to your husband. You are aware that he owns now everything that once belonged to you, don't you?"

Margaret nodded. He had touched a sore point. She knew the laws of her country, knew that by marriage a woman was practically placed under disability, at least that was how she saw it. Maybe she should have insisted on him courting her as it was customary, allowing her sufficient time to reconsider her decision in moments when she would have a clear mind to think coherently, was not led by the hot blood racing through her veins when he was close, too close, to resist his charismatic charms and dangerous nearness, his kisses and touches. At least, she should have made an agreement with John prior to her marriage, but she had been so mesmerized by the excitement of the revived emotions and the anticipation of being married to the man who had besotted her so, who had become her heart and soul, finally. Never had she wasted a thought on the possibility that John would manage her assets and properties against her wishes, or even worse that her marriage could fail. But today was not the day to let dark and dismal thoughts flood her mind.

"Yes, Henry, I know the laws of our country well enough," was therefore all she commented.

Henry sensed that he should better change topics, "I heard that Aunt Shaw was not feeling well and had therefore refrained from travelling to Milton." With a meaningful smile he added, "However, she is feeling well enough to prepare her voyage to Corfu where she is intending to spend the winter."

Margaret returned a bitter smile. Not that she had been missing her relative after all that had happened but for someone who set such high value on good manners like her aunt one should have expected at least a brief notice. But that was only a short-lived thought that was already gone as soon as it had entered her mind.

Finally John came to pick her up, whispering into her ear, "My mother and the Watsons have arrived, they appear to be on their best behavior. Don't worry, love."

They entwined their fingers and walked over to greet his family. Hannah Thornton smiled at Margaret icily, offering her hand but refraining from saying anything to her daughter in law. Instead she let her cold eyes roam Margaret's features and elegant appearance. Then, she turned to John, glanced at him and nodded curtly.

"I wish you well, John," was all she could muster to say, it was evident that her words did not spring from her heart.

John only repeated, "Thank you, mother." With her coldness she had touched his nerves that were already on the surface. There was no hug, no warmth, only a formal and empty handshake. He was disappointed and annoyed.

The reception dragged on slowly. Finally the wedding cake was cut and distributed. And finally John and Margaret Thornton could leave.

Later when they were sitting in the train they felt the mental pressure caused by the ceremony and the reception slowly fade.

However, a new tension was rising in both of them, this time bred by their own doing, by their heated kissing and touching. They were alone in the compartment, Cupid had mercy on them or had a strange sense of humor, putting their capabilities to resist their arousing desires to test. After their first wave of affection was over, when they were in control of their emotions, again, Margaret inquired where he would lead her on their honeymoon. She assumed that they would not go far and for long due to his limited time.

"I have made reservation for a hotel suite in Brighton, love, I trust you will like it. It is close to the beach and we can stroll along the water or visit the pier, in case we do not find other pleasures," he said with a meaningful undertone. "The climate is mild, as I have been told and the fresh air coming from the sea will do us good. I admit it must be a much nicer place in summer, but still, when marrying at this time of year there are not so many options in England to travel to," he secretly observed her reaction, wondering whether she might have expected a more extravagant place.

But she smiled contently, was in a state of peaceful happiness, took his hand with both of hers and snuggled her head comfortably in his chest, whispering dreamily, as if talking to herself, "I look forward to that, love. Walking down the pier with the most handsome and attractive man, what a nice prospect, all the women will be jealous. The air will make me hungry. I will eat a lot and grow fat and tired. Clearly, I will sleep like a stone."

She had closed her eyes imagining these prospects. He lowered his head to feather soft kisses on her hair.

"Oh no, I have other plans with you," he chided her gently, "at least what your night time projects are concerned. Surely, I will have a saying in that too."

After a pause he continued, "There is a hunger in me, Margaret," his voice was hoarse, his breath hot when brushing her face, "a hunger for you, for your body, there is a fire burning me from the inside, that only you can douse, a desire that only you can satisfy."

Margaret felt the strange but pleasant feelings return, racing through her body, burning her from the inside, as John had said. Yes, she understood what he meant, still she did not know what would happen to her when surrendering her virgin body to him. For a split second Edith's face displayed before her inner eye recalling what she had told her once. But then again she pushed these memories aside, her trust and faith in John was irrevocable, he would not bring harm to her.

"Sleep, my love," he shushed her, "we still have a long way to go. You are weary and in need of rest."

His free hand was cupping her cheek gently, his thumb was stroking her cheek bone softly.

She slumbered peacefully in his embrace, her dreams conjured a beautiful smile on her face which he could not see, though. He had closed his eyes as well, giving in to his own exhaustion.

The hotel he had chosen was, indeed, magnificent. John had made reservation of the so-called rose-garden suite consisting of two large bedrooms which were elegantly furnished, had their own bathrooms. The bedrooms were separated by a small dining and sitting room equipped for two persons as well as a large private balcony with a tremendous view on the sea-side. At once, Margaret stormed to open the balcony door and stepped outside, inhaling the fresh and salty air, listening to the waves as they were breaking on the shore. She was standing there for a long time, her hands holding fast to the ornate balustrade, her gaze straying towards the horizon but it was too dark to clearly determine where the sea ended and the sky began. When turning to the left she viewed the pier, still illuminated but void of visitors. From afar she heard someone laughing, but then it was quiet again. She finally closed her eyes, breathing deeply, listening to the monotone sound of the waves, hoping to calm the rising nervousness.

When she opened her eyes again she gazed at her wedding ring. It was a golden band with two gemstones: one was a creamy pearl and the other of the same size was a clear and shining diamond, on one side of the band there was an ornament, a small rose with no thorns. She knew she would always hold that ring dear because of its symbolism; two gems, both so different and unique and yet merged into one single piece of precious value, symbolizing their unification, their choice of being combined forever. The engraving inside the band simply read: John & Margaret, no date set limits to their togetherness, it was eternal.

Finally, when John had given the last instructions to the hotel staff he went over to join his wife. He was besotted with the image of his queen of hearts standing there on the balcony, she was so regal and beautiful. His pride to have conquered her at last made his heart race, his blood burn. For a moment he stood still, watching her in awe, but then he was drawn to her by a magic power, could no longer resist, needed her nearness. He closed the gap between them and put his hands gently on her shoulders, while she was holding tight to the balustrade. Then she placed her cheek on one of his hands, cherishing his nearness. Slowly she turned around to face him.

"It is such a nice place, John. It is like a piece of heaven, only for you and me," she was still overwhelmed, "you have chosen well."

"Yes, Margaret, I know, I have chosen well," he replied smiling seductively, having however, something else in mind.

He lowered his head to shower her with soft kisses, not as demanding as usual, but tender and reassuring.

Then there was a knock on the door and the waitress came in, pushing a trolley-table with their dinner. John had ordered a platter with fresh sea-food and wine as well as champagne and strawberries for dessert. She placed it all on the dining table along with a crystal vase with a single thornless red rose. Then she left, whishing a good night.

During dinner, John and Margaret were exchanging endearments, no serious topics were touched. John had taken off his coat and cravat. She remembered how enthralled she had been when viewing him like that for the first time, not long ago. She thought of how much more she would see of him soon. The idea was enough to set her pulse racing. He observed her closely, guessing where her thoughts were straying. He knew her so well by now. She could not hide anything from him, at least not in that respect. A satisfied smile rushed over his face.

When they had finished their dinner, John rose slowly, his eyes never leaving her, walked over and took her cold hand in his, made her rise from her seat and embraced her gently.

"Don't be afraid, Margaret," he whispered velvety, holding her in his arms, feeling her shiver in his embrace, "I may not be the kind of gentleman that you are accustomed to, I may be coarse and direct, but I am no monster, either. I am aware, you are frightened. There is so much that you want to know, and I want to show you. Trust me. Don't be afraid. Retreat to your room and prepare yourself. I'll be waiting for you in my room. Are you in need of a dress-maid?"

Margaret considered that offer for a short moment and then shook her head vehemently. She felt insecure and ashamed, surely she did not want anybody else to witness her state of mind, did not want anybody else to assist her when preparing herself for _her first time_. That was such an intimate moment that she did not intend to share with anybody else.

"No, John, there is no need to bother a servant," she stammered, "I can manage, I think."

"Good," he said matter-of-factly. Then he led her to her room, opened the door to let her walk in. "Take your time, Margaret. I will wait in my room." He kissed her forehead and left her alone.

Margaret sat down on her bed for a moment to consider the next steps. Then she undressed and went to prepare for a bath. She felt a lot better afterwards and returned to her bedroom. She opened the closet and found that the hotel staff had already arranged her clothes in an orderly fashion. She took out the nightgown that she had intended to wear for that special occasion. She had bought it, out of a sudden impulse, when she had stayed in Paris for a couple of days, on her way back from Spain. Smilingly she recalled that Mrs. Smythers who had accompanied her on her voyage and who could not be unnerved easily, had blushed when she had seen the gown. It was such a beguiling piece of clothing, made of a creamy thin silk and delicate floral lace, was almost transparent, was not hiding much of her body, of her untouched breasts. When checking her appearance in the mirror she found that the contours of her nipples showed, were erect and pushing against the fabric. Touching them out of curiosity she noticed their hardness. Quickly she slipped into the silken robe trying to cover her body completely.

She chided herself for not having chosen a long sleeved and high-necked non-transparent cotton nightwear that was customary in her time, but instead, she was wearing such an alluring, almost frivolous gown. What must he think of her now? Of her decency? She loosened her hair and started brushing the tresses, surely that monotone action would help ease her mind. Finally she put a drop of her perfume behind her earlobes. She had finished her preparations but she was not ready, yet, was hesitant to take that step forward into a new chapter of her life. She was anxious and waited. So many incoherent thoughts troubled her mind. She remembered that, before her wedding Edith had read a magazine for 'The Young and Decent Bride', giving advice how to escape the uncouth advances of her husband by feigning illness or headaches, by making it the goal of every decent bride to never allow her husband to see her unclothed body, and never allow him to display his unclothed body to her. Not to show him any willingness to being touched by him or to give in to his sensuality, to his bodily closeness. And if 'it' could not be avoided, then she should lie still and let 'it' happen without showing any emotion or even excitement, to comply with his rights as her husband reluctantly. But on second thought Margaret realized that it was not what she was here for.

Meanwhile John had prepared himself as well; wearing his long comfortable dressing gown he sat on a chair in his bedroom. Memories were flooding his mind bringing back the occurrences of the past weeks that had changed his life so utterly, pictures of Margaret's outstanding natural beauty, of her insecurity at times, of her smiles, but also of her anxiety and hurt were passing his inner eye. He was not aware for how long he was waiting already, for how long he still had to. There was a trace of nervousness and he wondered how long she would keep him in suspense, driving his self-control to the edge. But finally, finally, he heard the long-awaited sound of someone knocking on the door. In a few strides he was there to open it, to look into a pair of anxious but curious eyes.

* * *

**A/N: Because of the adult scenes in the next chapter the story will be updated under the M-rating. So, if you want to follow that story henceforth you might have to apply a different filter.**


	17. Chapter 17: The Young and Decent Bride

**Chapter 17: The Young and Decent Bride**

"I, …I…am ready," Margaret stammered in a voice that was full of gentleness but also conveyed an air of doubt and hesitation. She had lost all of her regal self-assuredness, was frightened and vulnerable but also so alluring in her shyness.

His nervousness still increasing, his breathing growing more erratic, John reached out for her cold hands, pulled her inside, closed the door, knowing that she was now watching his every step and action with caution.

His let his view stray over her delicate and flawless features, but it was her gown that took his breath away. Never before had he seen a piece of clothing that was hiding so little. And yet Margaret's beauty was still kept in disguise. Her appearance was making promises only, seducing his senses, toying with his restraint, making his self-control crumble away until only his baser instincts and sheer desire for her, for her body were left. She was surrendering herself to him, trusted in his promise to not harm her but to show her the intense feeling of love. His own words were now weighing on his shoulders and he prayed he would not disappoint her.

He cupped her glowing cheeks and lowered his head for a tender kiss, inhaling her perfume deeply, let his senses drown in her scent. Her open hair was floating down her shoulders, it was soft and longer than he had thought, had hoped for in his dreams. No pins or ribbons were hindering him now to let his fingers glide through the strands, to take her head firmly, almost possessively, in his hands. He kissed her again and let his tongue roam the contours of her lips, parted them to make his tongue search for hers. When he touched it she instinctually pulled back but then returned giving in to this surprising but pleasant and arousing sensation. Oh, yes, that was what he had hankered for: her curiosity triumphing over her shyness. The burning fire hidden inside her behind that mask of decency and innocence breaking through at long last, not knowing anything about love but wanting to learn everything. She stood there without moving, still covered in that thin, nearly transparent something, while he was now gazing up and down the shape of her body, that was promising unimaginable dreams and unspoken wishes come true. A crooked smile rushed over his face, reached his eyes, dark and filled with lust.

Driven by his desire he kissed her again, demandingly. His hands were straying down her spine until they reached her buttocks, and then back again the same way upwards, in agonizingly slow movements, making her quiver and pant, making her go weak at her knees.

Finally, his hands were tenderly sliding across her bare and smooth shoulders underneath that gown, were stripping the thin fabric off her body, letting it glide down on the ground. Still kissing her, not breaking their physical contact he slightly moved backwards, opened his dressing gown, freed himself from his clothing, until they were both in the nude, still kissing, their bodies skin to skin, hot and soft.

She had started to follow her own instincts, let her fingers roam his body, tentatively first, but then more coveting, exploring what she had never laid eyes upon before. Her initial shyness banished, her insecurities forced back by her curiosity and desire, she was touching, caressing, pinching his sensitive flesh gently, made him groan expectantly, anticipating already pure pleasure and delight.

Uncontrollable feelings of excitement and lust rushed through his body, made goose bumps rise on the skin where she had touched him. Craving for these sensations to linger, he held her tightly, grabbed her buttocks to push her fiercely against his nether parts, already aroused and yearning for being satisfied. He sensed her sudden restraint as she held her breath briefly, but he kept pressing her against him, did not let go. Finally, she exhaled deeply, gave in to his urge, groaned in pleasure and pressed herself even harder against his hot body.

She was burning with desire while he was holding her tight, his arms around her back and waist, making her walk backwards to the bed. At last he put her down gently and stretched himself beside her. He buried his head in her shoulder, whispering sweet nothings while caressing her tenderly. Then he lay down on her soft body, resuming his kissing her, heatedly, showing her his desire for her. Finally, he noticed her readiness: she was panting and winding beneath him, her hands clenched in fists beating on the mattress, eyes shut, groaning. He let one hand trail down to her belly, further down to that particular spot of her nether parts that she had been taught not to touch. Her groaning in response to his gentle but then vigorous massaging of her pearl was all he needed to hear. He let a finger explore her hot and wet vagina, widening it for his intrusion. The sight of that lovely creature straddled underneath him caused him to harden even more, urged him to prepare her for him. He positioned himself to let his hard and stiff member penetrate into her, thrusting into her in powerful and rhythmic movements, getting faster, always observing her reaction. There was excitement and bewilderment written all over her face, but no pain, no denial. He continued his wild grinding, was sweating and panting, sensing he was reaching the peak soon, while she was responding to his thrusting instinctively. She had opened her eyes wide, was staring at him in awe and lack of understanding of what was happening inside of her, her mouth was moving as if wanting to say something, but then her lips were only trembling. Pleasure and delight were spreading all over her face. With every feeling of happiness and ecstasy racing through him, he climaxed, spilling his seed into her, fully satisfied, was then crushing down on her in exhaustion, still panting heavily and erratically.

"Oh Margaret," he whispered, entirely spent, his breathing constricted, and after a while, "I love you, I love you. There are no words that would touch the blissful feelings I have." His voice hoarse and almost dead.

"And I love you, John, I… cannot find …. words to tell how I feel, it is all so unexpected and wonderful, so all-consuming, you are so all-consuming," she replied gently, still not herself, still excited about the overwhelming moments of sensuality she had shared with that man who was still lying on top of her and who had shown her the magic of love. Then after a while, "John, I have chosen well."

* * *

The next morning she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, reflecting on what had occurred the night before. In her wildest dreams she had not expected such a flood of amazing sensations that had swept through her body, made her initial worries vanish in thin air. For another moment she lay there drew the bed sheet higher to cover her naked body. It crossed her mind that she had indeed spent the night naked beside a man, her husband though, but a man still, a naked man. How scandalous.

Moving slowly around she had the heart to glance at John as he lay there on his back, asleep, his face slightly turned towards her, his facial expression was that of a satisfied and happy man, he was apparently dreaming, a faint smile was playing around his lips.

Being unobserved for once, she took the chance to study his features closely and thoroughly, to let her eyes roam his face, his bare-chested body. What she saw was taking her breath away. The sheet was loosely draped around his waist, covering his abdomen and legs. One hand was casually resting on his belly. With bashful but preying eyes she watched his male shape. He was lean and muscular, the strength of his body was evident, she had felt his power last night; the memory alone made her body arouse again, made those pleasant shivers return that had raced through her body so pleasantly, so all-consuming. His skin was pale and smooth, his chest was partially covered with soft dark hair. She would have loved to touch him, to let her eyes wander further down to his nether parts that she had not dared looking at intensely during their lovemaking the night before. For a while, her eyes lingered on his bulgy crotch that was covered by the sheet entangled around his waist; she was tempted to pull it away but then she refrained, it would have been too bold. Instead she let her gaze return from his naval up to his broad shoulders, his throat, his jawline and chin with that stubble that had been growing overnight, to his distinctive nose that she loved so much, that, at times, pressed into her cheek when he kissed her, to his lips that were slightly curved in a boyish smile. She exhaled deeply, satisfied with the result of her scrutiny of his perfectly shaped body, of that man who was now her husband. She closed her eyes, memorizing what she had laid her eyes upon.

"Do you like what you see?" his voice deep and velvety.

Oh no, that magical baritone normally sent pleasant shivers down her spine, made her skin tingle and let goosebumps rise. But now in that moment when having been caught in flagrante, it was causing sheer humiliation. She blushed in shame, pulled the sheet higher to cover her face.

"You are so lovely, Margaret, don't hide. One of the things that I love about you is your curiosity, you are so vivid. You have not done anything for which you have to be ashamed of."

She felt the sheet being dragged away slowly, while she kept her eyes shut, still sensing the hotness in her skin. His breath was brushing over her cheek as he caressed it tenderly with his nose. Then she felt feather-like kisses being spread all over her face.

"I said, open your eyes, Margaret, look at me," he murmured hoarsely.

Margaret called on all her courage and fluttered her eyelids open to gaze at him apologetically.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, "no words can tell."

His blue eyes were warm and reassuring. She felt her awkwardness fade, felt comfortable again in his nearness. He understood how she felt, she loved him for that.

"So what are we going to do now, love? Any suggestion?" he asked softly, while continuing his showering her with tender kisses.

"Oh, well I would like to go down to the beach, to take a walk along the pier, to visit some shops…" she started to list her wishes.

"Um, that seems feasible, we will do that after the breakfast … maybe tomorrow, or next week," he answered absently while paying more attention to rendering his caresses. "I wonder what you might have in mind for starting the day, though. Don't forget we are on our honeymoon."

His kisses became more demanding.

Margaret was blushing again and could not but stammer, "Oh."

With that man at her side she would not be able to follow the advices of the guidebook she had thought about yesterday.

"You are scandalous, John Thornton." She chided him in an aghast tone, a bit mockingly though. "You are seducing your young and decent wife in a shameless if not immoral way."

"What do you mean?" he stopped kissing her, looking at her in surprise and with an air of innocence, but the faint smile around his lips gave him away. There was a low and soothing tremor in his voice. "Decent wife? Um," the tone of his voice grew more seductive. "If my memory serves me right you have only been too willing last night, too willing to convince me of the contrary, _you_ were rather indecent, I would say."

Margaret exhaled deeply and then responded, "But you seduced me to do all these things."

"Excuse me?" still that velvety deep voice, "I seduced YOU?. But who was standing at my door clothed in that little something or better said nothing? You had not come to read the bible, had you?"

He was now busy trailing his kisses further down her throat, her shoulders, her breasts, letting his tongue tickle around her nipples, then sucking one of them while his hand was cupping and kneading the other breast gently. She was purring in delight, gave in to him willingly and soon they were lost again in enjoying the pleasures of the flesh.

Later, when he held her in his arms, spreading soft kisses on her head, he said dreamily, "Margaret, it is so amazing to make love to you, you are so surprising, so open, so alive, so natural, simply so loveable. I adore you, but you know that already. I had been afraid that I might have to prove myself. But it was somehow so easy to get you off from that pedestal where I had put you as my queen of hearts. You are still my queen of hearts, and will always be, but now you are lying in my bed. And I swear I will never let you go."

She nodded happily, she doubted that she would ever want to go. All of a sudden her stomach was rumbling, "Oops, do you think they are still serving breakfast? Or is it time for lunch already?" she inquired shyly.

"I do not know, love, let's get dressed and go downstairs, breakfast, elevenses, lunch, I think we'll take whatever they serve." And so they did.

* * *

Their honeymoon passed much too quickly, they enjoyed their nearness, their walks on the pier, on the beach, strolling in town with all those small shops and all the entertainment that was offered. They were conversing a lot in order to get to know each other better, to understand their actions and reactions. The nights were spent like the first one, in sweet harmony and passionate lovemaking. Their togetherness had proven that Margaret had made the right choice, that her uncertainty of what would happen to her had fallen into place. She could trust him, could be who she was, had not to disguise herself or hide behind rules and etiquette. She was happy, satisfied, had lost all her shyness in his presence, not that his closeness did not arouse her, to the contrary, she could hardly resist her own craving for his touch when he was around but she was no longer ashamed of her emotions, knowing that they were so welcome and cherished.

For John it was almost the same. Her closeness made him feel free and unstrained. His anxiety to fail as a gentleman in her eyes was long gone. His attitude towards Margaret was no longer ruled by stiff and formal rules but by a spontaneous and natural but also respectful behavior. Moreover, and never before had he spent so much time for himself, for his own pleasure and idle entertainment. He would feed on the memories that he was preserving for harder times to come. He was sure they would. Going back to Milton also meant going back to his home and his family with all the bickering about Margaret. He still could not fathom why his mother was so obsessively rejecting his wife. He doubted whether she would open her heart and tell him. Surely, his mother would no longer make an attempt to hurt Margaret in his presence but most of the day he was not at home but in the mill and Margaret would have to face the problems alone. He was hoping for a miracle to happen. But he did not have much confidence in that respect.

* * *

Finally they had to leave Brighton, had to return to that cold and unhospitable North. On their way back to Milton they were unfortunately not alone in the compartment. There was another couple, much older than the Thorntons.

After a while they started to converse in order to overcome the somewhat awkward silence.

The couple had spent a whole month in Brighton, as they confessed, on occasion of their silver wedding. When they heard that John and Margaret had spent their honey moon there, the lady blushed slightly, whereas the gentleman nodded with a knowing smile, was silent for a while.

But then he said, "Yes, twenty five years ago we got married. Time passes so quickly but I still remember it as if it were yesterday," glancing at his wife pensively, "At that time we did not have the financial resources to afford a travel, we always had to postpone it because of unforeseen circumstances, but now, finally, we have been able to break away."

The gentleman was still focused on his wife and gave her a warm smile, lifted her hand and kissed it. Margaret was enchanted by the words and the way they looked at each other, it was evident they were truly in love, still.

Margaret wondered whether, in twenty five years, she and John would still exchange such loving looks. She turned her head to glance at John and was absolutely positive when looking into his face. He knew what her thoughts were about and the answer was sparkling in his eyes: _yes_.

John as well took her hand to kiss is softly. Margaret could not help but a sudden impulse made her take his hand in both of hers, lifting it to her lips to kiss it as well and then pressed her cheek against the back of his hand, glancing at him, lovingly. He was amazed about her spontaneous sign of emotion, although it was beyond proper behavior in public. Yet, he valued her commitment, was rather proud than embarrassed. Apparently, she would never stop surprising him. In his eyes her behavior was beyond reproach, was only an admission of her true feelings for him, what could be wrong about showing that?

They all were silent for a while. But then the older lady said, "I have always thought that spontaneity and emotions have been lost in these days of stringent rules of behavior. As I can see now, they are not, it occurs to me there is hope." She glanced warmly at Margaret and continued, "Don't lose that spirit. It suits you so well." Margaret was all smiles with a twinge of bashfulness though, while the lady continued, meaningfully, "Your husband does not mind, obviously."

John hesitated for a moment but then answered, "Oh no, not at all, madam. To be honest: my wife's sometimes impulsive spirit is one of the reasons why I have fallen for her."

After they were all silent again, each one of them let their minds wander. Margaret felt comfortable having John beside her, recalling the wonderful time of their honeymoon, how open and relaxed they both had been, how their shared feelings had succeeded in bonding them together for the hard times they would have to face in Milton. She was sure that hard times would wait ahead of them. No doubt, Hannah Thornton would attempt to drive a wedge between John and her. Margaret knew she had to be careful, it was evident that a fight was on the horizon, her senses were already on the alert only by thinking of the Thornton House. John and she were exactly going back to that place where there was no feeling because emotion and love were not allowed to linger there. Margaret shivered and cuddled up to John.


	18. Chapter 18: False Hope

**Chapter 18: False Hope**

Upon their return to Marlborough Mills, John and Margaret ran into Hannah Thornton, much to their suprise if not shock. John's mother had come back, and she had returned earlier than expected. She was standing in the hall with an air of haughtiness but insecurity, also. Her head erect, her eyebrows raised, she had forced a faint smile around her lips; it did not reach her eyes though. The young couple regarded her stilted friendlyness with suspicion; they had not forgotten her coldness and denial before they had parted for Brighton.

Hannah lingered in the shadows of the hall, her dark hair and black gown were accentuating her pale face, made her almost look like a stature that had sprung from an ancient greek tragedy.

"So, here you are again," she greeted them. Her voice was meek and shaky, there was still that inscrutable smile on her face, still no warmth in her eyes; her hands were folded in her lap in an attempt to hide her nervousness and display a sense of serenity and calmness, instead.

At last, she was striding over to John, embracing him hurriedly as one would hug a stranger, glancing at him with probing eyes. "You look relaxed, John, having distanced yourself from business has done you good, obviously." She tried another smile.

"Yes, mother, I am really doing fine, I am happy, obviously." There was an air of hesitance and mistrust in his glance. "It occurs the time I could share with Margaret has done me good." He was clearly reassigning another cause for his well-being, notwithstanding whether or not his mother would appreciate hearing that.

He was still startled about the seemingly affectionate reception, was still wavering, still feeling doubtful of the situation. Miracles would not work that fast.

Extending her hand, Hannah turned to Margaret. It was apparent that she had difficulties in balancing her poise. Finally she remarked, "You once offered me your hand, Margaret, suggesting to start anew; I had refused it then, but I am prepared to take it now."

Margaret was caught off guard by that conciliatory gesture. She was a touch hesitant when she lifted her hand to take Hannah's, was a bit reluctant, even. "Well, yes, I think we should start anew, you are right, Mrs. Thornton." Margaret was still not herself, her poise underlined her uncertainty.

Hannah nodded faintly, almost not recognizable.

"Well, now, that we are going to live under one roof we should turn to a more casual way, don't you think so…Margaret?"

"Of course, I agree, Mrs Tho…., Hannah,… I mean." Margaret responded nervously.

"So, well, I am glad that things have been cleared," Hannah continued, breathing a sigh of relief, "I will go to the kitchen and give instructions for dinner. After that long travel I suppose you are not intending to go out again, are you?"

"No, surely, not. ..Hannah." Addressing her mother in law on a first name basis was still so unfamiliar. It would need some time to get accustomed to it, would surely cost an effort, too.

"Fine. Tomorrow, I will show you around properly and turn the household over to you, Margaret."

With another forced smile Hannah headed for the kitchen, leaving the couple open-mouthed. They stole a glance at each other, were unable to assess the situation.

"What was that?" Margaret mouthed, frowning.

"I don't know," he mouthed back, shaking his head in disbelief. And then aloud, "I think we should go upstairs. No doubt, you wish to refresh yourself after that long travel."

The servants had already brought the suitcases and bags upstairs. Entwining his hand with hers, John was leading his wife to the master's chambers.

Unexpectantly, he lifted her on his arms and carried her over the treshold, smilingly.

His eyes twinkled when he spoke to her in a gentle tone of voice, "I am sorry I failed doing it when entering the front door, but at least here I will follow the custom. Welcome to my house, to my world, Margaret."

In the vestibule that separated the two bedrooms he let her down again with caution, kissing her gently, then buried his head in her shoulder for a short moment before he whispered into her ear, "I love you."

She nodded in return, smilingly at him warmly and replied, "And I love you."

They remained in their embrace briefly, indulged in their mutual understanding, in their togetherness.

Finally he opened the door on the right leading to a study and an adjacent bedroom, both of them were newly decorated and nicely furnished.

"These are yours now." he said in a low voice, locking his eyes with hers so intensely as if he was trying to sink into their depth. Every now and then he was still at a loss to comprehend completely that she was his, could not fathom that he had conquered her after he had almost given her up already. Yes, he knew that she belonged to him now, he knew it, he quite simply knew it, and yet, he had to repeat it time and again, had to reiterate that it was safe to believe in the unbelievable. Margaret held his gaze, frowning a little as she sensed his imbalance, but then she was beaming with entire joy. He had seen that expression on her face already, that fetching expression that spoke of an utter contentment and happiness caused by something that he had done.

Finally Margaret broke their eye contact and she smilingly crossed the study with a childlike curiosity. At last she entered the adjacent bedroom and looked around.

"John, the rooms are gorgeous. The colours…so harmonized, everything is so perfect, so comfortable, so warm." She turned around to face him as she had assumed he had followed her.

But he was still waiting in the vestibule.

"Why don't you come in, John?" she asked, still amazed. She did not understand his hesitance.

Seeing how much pleasure she took in his surprise he inhaled deeply while a satisfied smile was beaming across his face. He cleared his throat and replied in a thick voice.

"I, …I want these rooms to be yours, Margaret, yours alone. You have given up so much for me. With all your wealth you could have made me your puppet to follow you around like a pet. But instead you have left me my dignity and pride and chosen to become the woman at my side. I think you will never fathom how much that means to me," and then, after a pondering silence, he continued even more seriously, "You have always been pushed around, Margaret, had to lead the life of the poor relative in the Shaw House, had been forced to live a life in Milton beyond your standing. And then when your circumstances had improved you have given up your freedom and independence – for me. I will never forget what you have sacrificed for me. But in this room, you will be free and independent, you can shut the world out whenever you want. No-one is allowed to enter it. Whenever that door is closed, it is closed for me as well."

Margaret stood still, wide-eyed, and deeply touched as his words sank in. His sign of esteem made her speechless for a moment. But then she smiled at him, teasing in a low voice, "And what if I invite you in?"

With a boyish smile around his lips he responded, "If my queen of hearts calls me, I'll come running and be her humble servant, of course," and after a brief pause, a sparkle in his eyes, "and do whatever she wishes me to do."

She tilted her head, let her eyes linger on him, smiling seductively, "Then come in, please. And don't forget to shut the door and keep the world outside."

He complied instantly and in a few long strides he closed the gap between them, already taking off his coat and loosening his cravat.

They were a little late for dinner, found Hannah already waiting for them at the table. If she was annoyed due to their belated appearance they did not know, her countenance did not give away anything. Surprisingly the dinner could be held in an unstressed atmosphere, amicable would however be too big a word. All of them were still slightly insecure, did not know whether the peace would last, were weighing each word they were saying, carefully. John felt quite relieved about the apparent improvement in their relation, whereas Margaret was still unbelieving.

As customary in the Thornton House, after dinner the familiy retired to the drawing room. At once, Hannah Thornton was busying herself with her needlework, John was trying to catch up with the Milton newspapers that he'd not had the chance to read yet. Margaret was still indecisive, she would have liked to go for a walk with John. He was, however, not in the mood for that. Needlework was nothing that she ever had been fond of. So she opted for reading a book she had bought in Brighton and went upstairs to her room to fetch it.

Meanwhile, in the drawing room, Hannah was busy with the embroidering of a tablecloth.

"I wonder what pattern she will choose, John," she said pensively. "You know all the bed linen and tablecloths have to be redone. I hope she will help doing it and not leave the work for me alone. You might want to tell her."

John let the newspaper glide on his knees with a rustling sound. He did not like being interrupted when reading.

"I have never interfered in household matters, mother. What makes you think that I would want to start now?"

"Because I have just made my peace with your wife and I don't want to risk it. If I say anything she might misunderstand my intention, John. She appears to be so thin-skinned, so touchy."

John could not bear any such criticism on Margaret.

"She is not touchy, mother. Life has not always been kind to her, that made her sensitive and vulnerable. But to a certain extent it has also made her tough and resilient. I am confident that she will be capable to handle a question of embroidery, mother."

John's response was rather snappish, so unlike him, it showed how tense the situation was, still. Slightly angered he rose and crossed the room in a couple of strides for the credenza and filled a glass of brandy. Returning to the table he took a gulp and then left the glass on the table, pondering for a brief moment. He took off his frock coat and loosened his cravat as he had grown accustomed to over the past days. Hannah was however startled about that new attitude. John had not noticed, though, that his mother was watching him with frowns of worry.

Standing at the window he looked over to the mill, wondering what might await him there on the morrow, whether it would have been advisable to have the mail checked upon his arrival in the afternoon instead of responding to Margaret's allurement. Having crossed his arms over his chest he kept standing there, looking out of the window over to the mill, but letting his thoughts wander. Then he closed his eyes and let them roam far afield to vivid images in his memory.

When Margaret returned to the drawing room she sensed the twinge of disturbance at once but her instincts made her refrain from asking any questions. So she walked over to John's table and sat down on the free chair and for the time being put the book on the table. She noticed that John stole a glance at it, reading its title.

She looked up to him awaiting his comments on the book or any other remark he would have wanted to make, but he did not. He gave her a forced smile and sat down as well. Margaret took the book and started reading it, silently. Hannah was still busy with her needlework while John continued reading the newspapers, sipping at the brandy from time to time. Margaret had noticed that a cigar lay on a box and wondered when he would light it. During their honeymoon in Brighton he had always smoked a cigar after dinner. She had found it so alluring, so manly; she had loved watching him in all secrecy while he was paying close attention to preparing and lighting the cigar. She had refrained from asking him where his mind was straying or addressing him in any other way. After he had done so much for her she simply wanted him to have these fleeting moments to be his own. She knew he'd not had many of them in his life, a life that had always been reigned by caring for others in the first place. What little time he had stolen for himself she was not aware of, that half of an hour or slightly more to have a smoke was surely not asking too much.

After a while the quietness became unbearable. Hannah was still busy stitching but she did it with a rather strained expression on her face. John was reading the paper faking a painstaking concentration. Margaret had to smile inwardly but then realized that she herself had turned some pages of her book already without remembering what she had read.

Trying to break the silence Margaret hesitantly addressed her husband, "John, why don't you light your cigar? You know I like the scent of the smoke so much."

There were no other words more dangerous, more wrongly chosen in that moment. Two pairs of piercing eyes were aiming at her.

Hannah rose from her chair instantly, turning to John, "I told you she would bring trouble, didn't I?" and with that she swept from the room.

Margaret flinched throwing a questioning glance at John.

"Oh, Margaret, surely, that was not a clever move. My mother hates the smoke scent. That is why I always wait until she has left." He smiled reassuringly, "You could not know, of course."

"Of course, I could not know, obviously. How could I? Do you want me to go find her and explain my foolishness?" Her words were harsher than intended. But John shook his head slightly, trying hard not to show his own annoyance, whether over his mother or his wife he could not even tell.

He exhaled deeply, balancing his temper, and gave her a small smile, "Perish the thought! I have married you to take care of me, and not to run after others."

His warm glance succeeded in washing away her anger. She was not willing to have the good mood between herself and her husband spoilt by Hannah`s childish attitude. Slowly she rose from her chair and stepped over to stand behind John. Putting her hands on his shoulders she started massaging him gently, rubbing and kneading his muscles tenderly. At first he was taken by surprise but then gave in willingly to her treatment as it was relieving the tension in his muscles and easing the tiredness in his body.

"What is it what you're doing?" he purred after a while.

"Taking care of my husband," was her short but gentle reply.

"Um," was all he responded, closing his eyes and taking great pleasure in her doing.

"Would you like to smoke your cigar now?" she asked in a velvety voice after a while, kissing the top of his head from behind. She returned to her chair, starting to read the book from the first page again.

"You are so special, Margaret, I do not know what I have done to deserve an angel like you."

He glanced at her and commenced the ritual of preparing his cigar as if it were a holy act. Through her lashes she secretly observed him while he was putting the cap end in his mouth, spinning it slowly to get it wet. Then he cut the cigar, quickly and precisely. He threw her another glance, rather diffident, and then turned his attention again to the cigar lighting it with a long cedar match.

It was such a tingling sensation to observe him in his calmness, the sight of him alone made Margaret's skin prickle and feel a sensual and passionate pleasure in the stillness of his doing. She was happy and blissful being near him. From their stay at Brighton she recalled that he never said anything while smoking. Her instincts told her not to change that now, if she would ever want to. In some way she felt being shut out but still, for a reason unknown and with an almost tangible intensity she felt so close to him.

Again it was hard to concentrate on the book.

Later in his chamber, when they lay in bed, cuddled up in a tight embrace, the sheets loosely entangled around their nether parts, he asked her tenderly, "You have been watching me while I was smoking. What was it about?"

It was dark enough to not reveal that her cheeks had reddened.

"Um, I think I cannot explain," she answered recalling what he was referring to, sensing her nerves tightening in her stomach and then bursting into one powerful and uncontrollable physical reaction making her legs tremble and then her whole body shiver.

John had noticed her reaction, was smiling sheepishly and was glad that she could not see it.

"Then, show me," he insisted hoarsely.

He moved to lie on his back and pulled her with him. He raised her hand and kissed it softly, then put it on his belly still covered in the bed sheet.

"Show me," he whispered again.

A look of utter shock on her face she was tempted to withdraw her hand at first, but then she kept it where he had put it, felt the heat of his body. Tentatively and slowly she let her hand wander under the sheet, let it roam the sensitive hairy and warm and smooth flesh cautiously. Her touch made his skin tingle, made him groan in pleasant anticipation of what he hoped she would be doing to him. When she moved her hand further down and put her head on his belly, he knew she would.


	19. Chapter 19: Of Power Plays and Tactics

**Capter 19: Of Power Plays and Tactics**

Reluctantly, John got up to make an early start. Having been away from the mill for so long, he expected heaps of work to be waiting for him in his office.

Before leaving he glanced at his beautiful wife whom he had held in his arms throughout the night. Their heated lovemaking was still vivid in his mind. He had to admit that her passionate creativity had surprised him at first. She had let her imaginations run wild, was driven by her innate instincts, made them both enjoy a physical and emotional harmony, made them both explore and unleash shoreless desires and needs. He could not fathom sleeping in his bed ever alone again without being in touch with his adorable and ardent woman. Before their first night together he had been hoping for her passion, yes she had shown telltale signs of that fire that was burning inside. He had gathered that from her sometimes unmannerly behavior and longing eyes when they had been alone but the sensual pleasures that she had been giving him were unexpected and overwhelming.

Though he was longing to drown in her beautiful eyes, he did not wake her. He would have loved if she had joined him for breakfast, he would have wanted to see her smile at him when he was leaving for the day, walking over to the mill. But he was reluctant to rouse her from her dreams. Knowing that she would not stray from his thoughts throughout the day, he gave her a hushed kiss on her cheek and left, already yearning to come home to her in the evening, to be engulfed in her all-consuming passion again.

* * *

When Margaret awoke in John's bed, it was already late, the place beside her was empty and cold, he had already left. Only his unmistakable scent lingered on the sheets and cushions. She recalled the heated night, recalled what she had done to satisfy him and blushed because of her boldness. But he had encouraged her, hadn't he? A smile stole across her face. Oh, what a man. He had discovered her innermost fantasies that she had believed to have hidden so well inside and dragged them to the surface, for his own pleasure, giving her no chance to refuse his persuasiveness. There had been something in his velvety voice that had seduced her, made her do what she had in mind doing, made her do what she enjoyed doing. The colour of her cheeks reddened even more while recalling what she had done.

Still moonily lost in her reveries, she robed hastily for the day.

Surely her mother in law had already prepared some taunting words to make her feel inadequate again. So when she walked down for breakfast she expected the worst. Hannah was still sitting in the dining room, but much to Margaret's surprise her mother in law welcomed her cordially.

"Good morning, Margaret, it appears you were in need of sleep, my dear. Would you like to join me for a cup of tea? We could discuss the proper running of the household, now that this will become your duty." Hannah's voice was calm, not really warm but not icy either.

"Good morning, Hannah. I am sorry that I slept in, but as you said, I apparently needed to rest. I did not notice when John had left, if I had I would have joined him for breakfast, of course. I think I will have to apologize to him." Margaret was indeed not happy about her misfortune.

"Oh, no, don't do that. He is not used to have someone around in the mornings, even when I am up he ignores me. He is always a bit moody if not grumpy, and it would only spoil your day." Hannah said in a meaningful way and smiled faintly.

"Well, if you think so, I will give it a thought. Anyway, after breakfast I will go over to the mill just to say 'hello'...at least." she continued pensively.

"Oh, you should not bother John. As far as I know he has some meetings today. He does not appreciate being interrupted when business calls." Hannah insisted and then continued, a bit nervously, "Margaret, I would like to revert to my… well … inappropriate behavior of last night."

In fact, she appeared to be ashamed.

"I did not mean any harm, Hannah," Margaret hastened to interrupt, "Had I known that you are not feeling well with the smoke I had not mentioned it, of course."

"So there are no bad feelings between us? I do wish to establish a good relationship between the two of us, you know that, don't you?" Hannah smiled shyly.

"This had also been my intention. But somehow, we started under unfortunate circumstances." Margaret's smile was genuine as she attempted to make it easier for Hannah.

"Well, I really do appreciate your understanding. Let's turn to the delivery of the household then," Hannah appeared to have saddened as she let her gaze wander to the cash book.

Margaret had noticed that well and out of a sudden and unmindful impulse she asked, "You seem to be a bit unhappy about that. Is there any specific reason?"

Hannah touched that book almost gently, let her long and slender fingers linger on the cover and then looked up to meet Margaret's eyes "Well I have run this household for so many years, John had never had any reason to complain about my way of handling it." For a moment she was lost in thought, let her eyes stray to an image in her mind. But then she continued, visibly moved, "And I enjoyed doing it, it has become part of my life. But now I have to withdraw, have to turn it over to someone else, after all those years."

Margaret thought to discover some moist in Hannah's eyes. Obviously the household meant more to her mother in law than she had assumed. Surprisingly Margaret felt sorrow for Hannah's situation.

As a peace-offering the young woman responded gently, "Well, seeing that there are so many other things I have to handle, the houses in London and Oxford and this one here in Winston Street, I would … ask you … ,if … you might consider to continue leading this house, especially the cash-book."

She timidly smiled at her mother in law awaiting her reply with a surge of anxiety. Still, she could not judge her and her reactions. Hannah looked at her in total surprise and was lacking words for a short while.

She breathed deeply and then responded, "You mean you will leave the running of this household in my hands?"

"Yes, if you wish, and first and foremost, if it is not too much to be asked," Margaret said trying to read Hannah's mind.

Her mother in law lowered her eyes quickly and replied, "Yes of course, I would appreciate that."

Mrs. Thornton put her hand back on the household account, again losing herself in thoughts.

* * *

_'Oh, mother. I am the happiest woman in the world. John and I are married. I doubt whether there would be a better man for me.'_

Margaret stood at her mother's grave again.

The weather had become more uncomfortable since her last visit. The trees had lost most of their leaves, already, the treetops were shrouded in a waft of mist. A crow came flying out of the foggy and grey shadows all around her, croaking, and finally lowered on a branch nearby. It seemed as if the black bird was watching the young woman closely. Margaret was scared by the rather spectral mood encompassing her.

_'But yet I am so unhappy about everything else here. I cannot define the problems I have with Hannah. There is something about her that I cannot put into words as I cannot see it clearly in my head. For the time being I think the storm has calmed down but I fear it will not last. The house is so cold and uninviting. If not for John, I would …. No I do not want to be ungrateful. He has already done so much for me, he has arranged for the renovation of my bedroom, it is so beautiful, so cozy. He is always so caring for me. I love him so much, mother. I know I have chosen well. I do not have to worry about that. But I sense there is trouble if not danger looming in every corner of that house. It frightens me."_

After that visit she headed for the Bell House in Winston Street and was much pleased to find the renovation works completed. She asked the craftsmen to have their final account sent to Marlborough Mills. Yet, she had not made up her mind about what to do with the house; she would have to seek John's advice.

When she returned to Marlborough Mills Hannah was just preparing the afternoon tea.

"Oh, Margaret, there you are," Hannah's voice was kind, "come join us for tea."

Entering the drawing room Margaret found Fanny sitting on a sofa, next to her mother.

"Margaret, you look so stunning, your dress, the colours, the style..." Fanny was babbling, her voice high-pitched as always.

"Thank you for your compliment, Fanny."

Margaret walked over to her sister in law, shaking hands, but was still reserved towards her new relative. Images of their encounter in that restaurant prior to the wedding were rising in Maragaret's mind. Fanny must have forgotten that already, she did not intend to make any excuses, obviously. To keep the fragile peace with her new family - she was sceptical whether she would ever get accustomed to using that term wholeheartedly - she decided to ignore that incident as well.

"Would you like to have a cup of tea?" Hannah asked smilingly. "Having been out all day, must have exhausted you entirely."

"Oh, yes, it was indeed a bit tiring. A cup of tea would do me good, thank you."

In fact Margaret was worn out and grateful for that offer. She gladly took the sandwiches offered to her. It was only when she took the first bite that she noticed how hungry she was. Although Hannah and her daughter did her utmost to convince Margaret of their friendly attitude she was nonetheless still guarded, did not trust that peace, yet. After a while she sensed her exhaustion grow despite the strong tea that she had.

Hannah noticed as well that fatigue and asked, "Oh, you look so tired, Margaret. Maybe it would be a good idea to have a nap before John will come home."

"Yes, I think you are right. If you do not mind I would like to have a little rest. Thank you for your understanding."

She rose and took her leave, her thoughts straying to John again, to that man who had turned her life up-side-down, whose nearness she was already craving for.

* * *

When John came home that evening he was taken by surprise that Margaret was not there. He had been hoping to find her waiting for him, smiling and pleased to see him again.

Instead he was welcomed by his mother, "Good evening, John. You look tired. Come in, the dinner is ready to be served."

She linked arms with him and they both proceeded to the dining room.

"Where is Margaret?" he could not hold back and asked her bluntly.

"Oh, she has retired. She had been away all day and when she came home she was worn out. She has gone to bed and I do not believe that she will join us for dinner." Hannah told him smilingly.

"I will go and ask her to come down, nonetheless, and join us," he said, slightly annoyed.

"Let her be, John. She is tired and needs her rest."

John exhaled deeply to calm his frayed nerves. They began the dinner in silence, both of them hanging on to their own thoughts.

Finally, John started to converse, "Have you shown her how to run the household, mother?"

Hannah was hesitant but then said, "I do not think she is really interested in running the household, John, she is rather of the kind to spend money, not to keep it together. She asked me to keep the books."

She looked up to him, trying to read his mind. He was in fact angered, that was evident.

"But John, please do not tell her. She has to accustom herself to the new surroundings first. Allow her that time, please."

John nodded absently. Surely he had hoped that their marriage would take another turn but maybe his mother was right, he should allow her some time. But he missed her so badly, he needed her nearness, wanted to burry himself into her warmth. All day long she did not stray from his thoughts, he was yearning to see her in the evening and now she was not here.

"Oh, by the way, Fanny dropped by in the afternoon, she gives her regards. She had been out for lunch with Ann Latimer. Ann had seen Margaret entering a dressmaker's shop. Always spending money. Don't you think she has enough dresses to wear? We have to keep an eye on these costs, John. You know she has expensive tastes in clothes."

"Yes mother, we will do so," he answered, but apparently he had not listened to the hints hidden in her words.

It did not take long and John retired. It had been his first day in the mill, he had worked hard to complete the tasks, to go home and spend his evening with his lovely wife. When he arrived at the master's chambers he found her door shut. According to his own rules he was not allowed to enter. A cynical smile crept across his face - his own damned rules. yes. He stood there for a brief moment, his hand already raised to knock on the door but then he turned to go to his own room, to go to bed alone, bitterly disappointed.

When he rose the next morning he found her door still closed. He had a slight hope she would be waiting in the dining room, but she was not. But his mother was.

"Good morning, John. Did you have a good night?" she asked.

"Good morning, mother, thank you, yes I had," he lied, "I hope you slept well, too."

"Yes, thank you, John. Do you want me to pour a cup of tea?"

"Yes, please."

He sat down at the table, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and imagining Margaret doing it for him in her graceful way.

He took the morning papers and went through the pages hastily. Finally he rose, said good-bye to his mother and left for the mill.

* * *

When Margaret awoke later in the morning, she still felt tired and worn out. Hastily she robed and was intending to leave her chambers. She wondered why the door to her rooms was closed, she could have bet that she had left it open for John the day before. Pensively she went down only to find John gone again. She was awaited by her mother in law, instead, standing in the open door to the dining room.

"Oh, good morning, Hannah," Margaret stammered, "I am sorry I slept in again. I do not understand why I am always so tired."

"Good morning, Margaret. Never mind. You have not missed anything. Come in and have your breakfast." Hannah tried to appease her, making her feel less guilty.

"Yes, thank you, Hannah." She sat down, was quite relieved, and took a slice of toasted and buttered bread along with a cup of tea.

"Do you want me to stay or do you manage on your own? I have to do some errands in town and I am already late. But if you are in need of me I will not leave of course."

"No, no it's quite alright. At any rate, I do not think that I am very talkative this morning."

"Well, fine. I will be back in the afternoon, I think."

Margaret mused about the reason for her tiredness, could not find any explanation, though. She did not notice that she had eaten more than usually in the morning. When she realized she felt almost sick, had another cup of tea. She remained seated for a while feeling drained of energy, stripped of coherent thinking, detached from life. She let her mind stray to John who was working in the mill, in a striking distance, reachable for her if she had wanted to reach him, but she could not. She felt tired again and would have liked to return to bed. But a clear thought crossed her mind and made her refrain from giving in to her longing. She had to fight that tiredness.

So she decided to continue reading her book and went upstairs to fetch it. When she opened the door to her room, she had a sudden feeling of nausea.

* * *

John was going through the mail, was doing some accounting but could not stop his thoughts from straying to Margaret over again. He was wondering whether she had got up already, and if, why she had not come to see him, it seemed she was trying to avoid him. When they had returned from Brighton he was still confident that they were able to keep that mood of their honeymoon alive, that their bonds were strong enough for the daily grind. But now she was not that woman anymore. Literally from one day to the other she had changed. Doubts were nagging at him, doubts whether it had been right to unroot her, to bring her to Milton, to make that town her home. He was not only worried about these changes but even more about its rapidness.

Guided by intuition he decided to walk over to the house, hoping to meet her there, to talk about the obvious problems. When he arrived the house was almost empty. One of the servants told him that Mrs. Hannah Thornton had gone to town. But no one knew anything about the young Mrs. Thornton. With an unpleasant feeling he went upstairs. And then he found her lying on the floor of her room, pale and unconscious.


	20. Chapter 20: Of Options, Suspicions,

**Chapter 20: Of Options, Suspicions And Clues, Perhaps**

Dr. Davidson frowned when he came out of Margaret's room.

"I am sorry, Mr. Thornton, but I cannot find anything particular to substantiate a clear diagnosis. Your wife is awake now, but very weak and dazed. Fortunately, she has not suffered any fractures. But what has been leading her to faint I cannot say. It might be that she is developing an illness, an infection, but again, the symptoms are not clear. We have to watch her carefully, Mr. Thornton. She should rest and not burden herself with too much work."

Dr. Davidson made a short pause and contiuned, "Does your wife take any medication?"

"Margaret? No, surely not. She is in good health." John responded vehemently, and then added in a more worried tone of voice, "usually."

"Well excuse the question, but how long are you married Mr. Thornton?" the physician inquired further.

"Why…what…I do not understand why that should be of any relevance now, Dr. Davidson," John was confused about that question, "We are married for four weeks. Why would you want to know?" and then after another brief pause, "You mean, she…might..she...might be…,really?"

John let his gaze rest on the physician, full of hopeful expectation, though frowing nonetheless.

"It would be too early to tell, the indication is utterly vague. So don't take it too seriously. It is only a possibility, no more than a guess, I'm afraid," Dr. Davidson replied, pensively. "All the same I would suggest to not tell your wife unless I am sure about it, Mr. Thornton. As I said it is but a vague possibility. However, to be honest I have my doubts. I am sorry I should not have mentioned that idea, at all." He scrutinized the mill owner but could not get through to his mind, could not assess what he was thinking. The doctor was usually not a forward kind of person and regretted instantly to have mentioned a probable pregnancy.

John Thornton stammered, "Yes of course, I will not tell her. If it will turn out that my wife is indeed with child then I'll be the happiest man on earth. Be sure about that. But if not...what might be the reason for her sickness, then?" he wondered aloud, clearly talking to himself.

Absently John Thornton shook hands with the doctor. He did not really listen when the latter said, "Good bye Mr. Thornton. I will come again to look after your wife tomorrow morning."

The doctor left, deep in thought as he had never had to deal with a similar disease. An apparently healthy young woman, knocked out, lying asleep as if she wanted to withdraw from life. He had to return home and check on the medicine books, would have to discuss the case with some of his colleagues who were specialized in other fields.

Slowly and silently John went over to Margaret's bedroom. She lay there covered in the sheets. A servant had already changed her clothes, had robed her in one of those simple high-necked and long-sleeved cotton nightgowns. She looked so weak, so pale. Had she not her eyes focussed on him it would have looked as if she were laid out. Her deplorable sight sent shivers down his spine. In a few strides he was at her side, sat down on the edge of the bed, took her cold hands and rubbed his thumbs over their backs. He let his worried eyes sink into hers that were still set on him, filled with sadness and incomprehension, begging for help.

"Oh, Margaret, how are you feeling. You scared me to death." He winced at his own unthoughtful words.

"I _am_ scared to death, John," she whispered in return, "I do not know what is happening, why I am so tired and weak. I am not myself."

"Do not worry, love. You will be better, soon," he said softly, listening to his words that he himself could not believe in, though. "Rest now, my heart."

He remained at her side for a couple of moments, holding her hands with a soothing gentleness that reassured her for the time being. But the feeling of being sheltered would not stand to last, would fade as soon as he was leaving. Nonetheless, for the time being they cherished their nearness.

Then John heard a rustling sound of fabric at the door and turned around. His mother stood in the doorframe, a worried look across her face, "What has happened, Margaret? I have just returned and heard the news. I should not have left you, I am so sorry." She was still aghast about the incident.

Hesitantly she came closer, a cup of tea in her hand, but Margaret shook her head, "No, thank you, Hannah. I do not want anything. I think I would like to sleep now."

John rose and let his fingers run over Margaret's cheek. Looking deep into her eyes and leaning down to kiss her gently, he spoke under his breath, "I love you, my heart. Sleep well."

He tried a smile but failed entirely. Reluctantly he let go of her while she was attempting to hold tight to him.

"When you go to sleep tonight, John, would you come and hold me in your arms?" her plea was but a hushed whisper, sadness and anxiety in her tired eyes.

"Of course, my love," he tried another smile which was small but a smile, at least. Then he gave her a last tender kiss on her forehead and left.

He closed the bedroom door and was surprised to find his mother still waiting in the vestibule with that cup of tea in her hands. She turned around to leave as well.

"Wait, mother, I'll have the tea," John said and stretched his hand out to take the cup.

Hannah glanced at him with a sudden unevenness, "You don't want to have a fresh one downstairs?"

"No, this will do, mother," he was always so modest when it came to his own needs.

By a mishap, however, she let the cup slip her hand . It scattered on the floor spilling its contents across the carpet.

"Oh, how clumsy, John. I'll send a servant to have this mess cleaned without delay. Margaret's condition is really unnerving me. It is so sad to see a young person suffer so much." Hannah was seemingly concerned.

John had not expected so much sympathy from his mother. Apparently she had started to like his wife. How could one not?

* * *

A couple of days later John and his mother were sitting in the drawing room. John was reading the evening papers while Hannah was checking the book of household accounts, shaking her head, sighing, recalculating the figures.

"She is spending too much money," she murmured to herself with another sigh.

Having picked up her words, John asked, "What do you mean by that, mother?"

"There is too much money running out, John. I cannot balance all the open accounts anymore," she replied, lifting her head and squinting at her son, carefully watching his reaction.

With a rustling sound he let the newspaper glide on his knees. He stared at his mother in disbelief.

"That cannot be. Taking into account the transfer I have made there should be enough money in the household for the rest of the year, if not for longer."

Hannah hesitated for a moment but then observed, "Well for the running of the kitchen and the wages there is surely more than enough. But, there are so many craftsmen submitting their invoices for the renovation of that house in Winston Street. It's a bottomless pit, John. Your wife is throwing money down the drain."

He was annoyed, "But you should not mix the accounts. Margaret will pay the renovation costs from her own money. I think she has enough of it," he replied dryly. "You worry over nothing, mother. Besides, it is not about _throwing money down the drain_, as you call it, the renovation of the house in Winston Street is an investment."

"I hope we will achieve a good price for it when it will be sold, then. I maintain she spends the money like water, John. After all it is yours and we should have a close eye on it."

"I know it is mine. I am quite familiar with the laws. I have signed the papers," he observed in a tense tone. "But yet, it is hers, mother, hers alone and I will not touch it for my purposes or even dispose of her assets. And to make it unmistakably clear, the house in Winston Street will not be sold unless Margaret wants to. I would appreciate if you kept that in mind. I will never take anything from her."

His voice spoke of his annoyance.

But Hannah was not prepared to leave the matter unsolved.

"A young and lavish woman like she is, should be under the supervision of an authoritative man, John, but you are caring too much to please her. You do not make demands on her."

"What is that again supposed to mean? My wife is ill, lies in bed day and night. And you tell me to make demands on her?" he shook his head, "so, what is that you really want to tell me?"

"I want to suggest to you to sell all _her_ properties to have the money held together in one hand, in your hand, John. That is not illegal, that would be wise now that you have married her."

John was aghast, his voice was getting agitated.

"Honestly, I am at a loss to understand what I hear, mother," he was frowning. "Are you implying that I have married Margaret because of her money, that I have entered into a mercenary marriage? To get hold of her wealth? Do you attach so little value to me, do you think I am that base?"

Hannah lowered her eyes to check on the figures again. Instinct told her not to pursue that path anymore, not now, at least. She appeared to comprehend that her words had been too forward. "Of course not," she said in a quiet voice, "I am sorry if I have hurt you. I only meant well."

"Oh, mother, I am so tired of your _meaning well. _I cannot hear that anymore."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to calm his nerves and continued, very slowly, as if talking to a child, "Have you settled any of the accounts for the renovation, yet?"

"No, I have not."

"Fine, then you will withdraw them from your household book and pass them on to me. I am going to handle Margaret's accounts myself. All incoming invoices should be given to me, mother."

John lifted the newspaper, pretending to be delving into it again. But his nerves were too frayed after that quarrel, he could not focus his attention on the news.

It did not take long and his thoughts and worries were straying to the conversation he had with Dr. Davidson in the morning. The doctor had still not found any clue for Margaret's illness. He had dropped the possibility of a pregnancy, in the meantime. Somehow he was now suggesting that there might be a mental reason, that she might have some veiled problems unsolvable for her, that she was trying to escape from reality, from life, was trying to avoid facing her inner turmoil of unspoken sorrows or feelings of guilt. John had heard about that new development in medicine that was now paying more attention to mental issues. John had listened, open-mouthed, but was reluctant to believe that Margaret was mentally ill, was even aghast when the doctor had recommended to hospitalize her. Whatever it was that Margaret suffered from, it was not madness. It made him sick to be standing helplessly aside. There could not be anything worse than watching her suffer, being incapable of getting her back on her feet, of getting her back to life. He had vehemently rejected Dr. Davidson's recommendation to admit her to a mental hospital. But he did not have any other solution, either.

Earlier than usual he retired, wished his mother an unfeeling and cold 'good night' and went upstairs.

* * *

It had become customary in the past days to go over to Margaret's rooms, to hold her sleeping form in his arms. He was seeking her closeness, was trying to gain some strength from her, was trying to give her some feeling of security in return.

So he prepared for the night and went over to her rooms. When he crossed the vestibule he caught a glimpse of the carpet where his mother had spilled the tea a couple of days before. The stain had almost vanished and the carpet had dried meanwhile. He recalled how his mother had dropped the cup. Usually she was careful enough to avoid such a mishap. Back then, he had attributed it to her sincere worries about Margaret, it had even warmed his heart a little to notice that his mother had started to care for his wife. But remembering how coldly she had been talking about Margaret tonight, he sensed blurred suspicions creep into his mind about her true feelings for Margaret, doubts about his mother's intentions. He could no longer make sense of her conduct.

Silently he opened the door to Margaret's room and crawled into her bed as all the nights before. A full moon was shining, shed some dim light onto that lovely creature as she lay there in her bed, her chest moving slightly while she was breathing calmly, asleep like a cursed princess out of a fairy tale, a pale beauty waiting for her prince to come and wake her by a kiss.

Through the waking hours of his days he missed the nearness that he had shared with her when they were making a walk or simply when being together in a room reading or talking. In those precious moments he understood what it meant to be home. He had found his home in her, with her, near her. Would it ever be like that, one day? Would he ever taste the sweet and wild fruit of love again, of real love, of sensuous love, of caring and comforting love? Would he ever feel that nearness, that togetherness, again? She had brought so much gladness to his life, so much more than his imagination had made him consider possible. He had his ample share of it, had gotten addicted to those sensations and emotions that only Margaret could stir in him. But was it all now that they could expect? Was that really all? Had they already consumed the good times of their life?

In the book of Plato that Margaret had given him in memory of her late father he had read about the old gods and the creation of men, of soul-mates who were seeking for their other half throughout their lives. Once they would meet they would know. He had been deeply intrigued by that idea at that time, was wondering whether there would be a soul-mate waiting for him somewhere, seeking out for him. Finally he knew he had found his other half. He wanted her back.

He cuddled up to Margaret gently, caressing her, planting soft kisses across her face and throat, whispering sweet nothings. Margaret had told him once, at the beginning of their relationship, that she was mesmerized by his voice, how it was creeping under her skin when he was speaking, as she had put it. He hoped that it still would and kept talking to her in a reassuring and soothing tone of voice. At last he was dozing off while recalling all the good times they had shared.

Finally he was thrust into a nightmare world of sorrow and pain mixed with beautiful memories of their short and happy life together. Fragments of that devastating dream combined with all those wonderful pictures were still in his head when he awoke, altogether they did not make any sense to him. But a thought had manifested in his head, a hope, he knew now what he would have to do.

* * *

When Mrs. Thornton returned from the errands her son had asked her to run in the morning, she was surprised to hear from the servants that Margaret was no longer upstairs in her room. Mr. Thornton had returned before noon along with one of his workers and a young woman, had gathered Margaret's belongings and had taken her away. Mr. Thornton had not let on where his wife would be brought to. However, they had heard a couple of days before that Dr. Davidson had recommended to have her hospitalized. The young Mrs. Thornton had looked very pale and was hardly able to walk, Mr. Thornton had to support her.

Hannah Thornton was aghast and worried, wanted to walk over to the mill to ask John about what had happened. But then she refrained from doing that and decided to wait until the evening. In the meantime she retreated to the drawing room, occupying herself with her usual needlework, deep in thought about what had happened.

John came home earlier than expected, seeking out his mother who was still in the drawing room. She lifted her head and glanced at her son with a reproachful and questioning look. She sensed the tension in him as he sat down on his chair at the window. He did not say anything but exhaled deeply which he always did when he had to calm himself.

"So you have brought Margaret to the hospital I've heard," Hannah said matter-of-factly, after a while of a disturbing silence between them. "I hope the doctors will be able to help her. She is so fragile, too fragile I would say."

John listened, but did not say anything.

After a short while, his mother continued, "A man like you should have a wife who is strong and healthy, John, but she appears to be so weak."

"No, she is not weak and she is not ill," he responded almost stubbornly and visibly annoyed, "To the contrary, she is strong. She has suffered so much in her life and has gone through so many sorrows and pains, she has never faltered, has swallowed all troubles that had been cast upon her. Whatever it is, it is not within her, it has not come from her home in London, it has not come from her home in Camden Street. It has sprung from here, from Marlborough Mills. She once told me that she was in fear of this house, that it is cold and that it frightens her. So do not waste your time to convince me of a mysterious weakness that she bears inside of her, or a mental disease even."

Shaking her head, his mother laughed hysterically. She loved that big house, it was her pride, a token of her wealth, after she had lost everything when her late husband had chosen to commit suicide and had left her with two underage half-orphans and a burden of debts that weighed them down. After her son had been able to restore their standing she clung to that house as if it were the frame of her life. It meant everything to her, at times it appeared that it was more important to her than the people who lived in there.

"So this house is a menace to her sanity? Is it that what you imply? You can't be serious, John."

"Oh, yes I am serious, only that I do not doubt her sanity," there was a tremor in his voice that she knew all too well, "Anyway, I have made up my mind. I have pledged once to take care of her in good times and in bad times, to protect and shelter her. Therefoe, I have detached her from Marlborough Mills entirely."

"But it will not be easy for me to take care of her now that she is not here anymore," Mrs. Thornton objected.

"You have not understood, have you? It appears I have made myself not clear. There is no need for you to take care of her. When I say I have moved her from Marlborough Mills I mean not only from this dead place also from its people, from you and also from me. Nobody of this house will go and see her unless she wants to. Is that clear, now?" he looked up to meet her astonished gaze. Mrs. Thornton was not used to being addressed by her son in such a harsh tone.

"Yes, I do understand though I do not see any sense in it. You should have sought my advice, John, as you had when you were younger. We had always been on good terms then." For a brief moment she was reflecting on those good old times, when it had been the two of them working hard and disciplined for their living and rise in society.

"But I am a grown man and I carry my life in my own hands. We already had that discussion before, if my memory serves me right. It is time that you grasp that."

He stood up and in a couple of slow strides crossed the room to the credenza, poured himself a brandy and then returned, took a cigar out of the box and prepared it. Just when he was lighting the cedar match, his mother pushed back her chair and rose.

"Good night, John. I am going upstairs and gather my belongings. I will leave tomorrow morning and stay with Fanny."

"As you wish. Good night."

While having his smoke he remembered when Margaret – Margaret, how he missed his woman - had watched him in secrecy here in the drawing room while he had been preparing the cigar, how it had stirred him, how he had savoured it. How he had watched her secretly while she was watching him secretly. He felt almost a physical pain knowing that she was not here now. But he was convinced that it would be the best for her.

In the morning still, he was convinced that the measures he had initiated were right but now in the evening his selfishness got the upper hand, he had to seek out all of his self-control to refrain from paying her a visit.

In the past days he had held her sleeping body in his arms, now that bed would be empty and cold.


	21. Chapter 21: Detached

**Chapter 21: Detached**

When Margaret woke up it was dark. She did not know where she was. A sudden fear disturbed her dizzy mind, sent shivers down her spine. She felt lonely and forlorn. Where was John?

She could not comprehend what had been going on. Her memories of the day past were only vague, what the days before were like she did not remember, whether there were any at all. She was able to recall that John had made her rise and leave the bed, had helped her downstairs in order to take her away. She was reluctant, though, to follow him, she would have wanted nothing more than staying in bed and sleep. But he had not let her, had been talking to her in a calm and authoritative voice, but also so soothingly. Now and then, Nicolas and Mary Higgins' faces flashed through her mind. Later, she had fallen asleep again only to wake up here in that unfamiliar bed, still weary and alone.

Slowly, she moved to come into an upright posture, her head was terribly aching and her mind was clouded by a severe dizziness, her stomach was grumbling and she was thirsty.

In the dim light of the moon she saw someone sitting in a chair near the window, covered in a blanket, sleeping. A sudden longing was rising from deep inside of her soul and she extended her hand to reach out. But then she withdrew it as fear was growing. She clenched a fist pressing it against her chest. The person was much too small to pass for John.

Margaret sat still for a while, breathing deeply, balancing her emotions that were floating between hope and fright. She was trying to sort things out, was trying to make sense of what had happened, was wondering whether madness was reigning her mind now, why she was in that foreign place, at all.

Instinct made her want to run but she felt too weak to rouse.

After some more moments of indecisiveness she found the courage to speak.

"Hello," she whispered hesitantly into the dark, her voice insecure and meek, full of fear and anxiety.

The person moved, waking up slowly. To her great surprise and relief Margaret recognized Mary Higgins. So her memory had not been fed by illusion, she had seen her friend in reality. So her brain had not gone mad, at least not completely. She sighed in utter gratefulness.

"Oh, Margaret. There you are again."

Mary rose from the chair directly and, in a few quick steps, closed the space between them and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Still incoherent in her thinking Margaret inquired, "Where am I? Why are you here?"

"Well, Mr. Thornton has decided to bring you here. We are in your house in Winston Street. He wants you to recover here. He thinks Marlborough Mills is not good for you." Mary gave her friend a warm smile and continued, "How are you feeling now?"

"Still dizzy, but also so awake and yet so tired. It's strange, I cannot explain how I feel." She pondered about her physical and mental numbness. "How long have I been like that? I do not seem to have a memory of what had happened, anymore, my sense of time is missing entirely."

"Oh, Margaret. Mr. Thornton told me that you have been like that for days, sleeping, the doctor could not help or explain. Then Mr. Thornton made you come here. I think he was right. He told me to take care of you, to make you eat and drink."

"Yes, John..." Margaret whispered pensively, she sensed a small smile rising around her lips. "When will he come?"

Her eyes were starting to sparkle faintly when she let her mind stray to her husband. Oh, how she missed that strong and sensitive man who was always so caring and gentle towards her. She wanted to cuddle up to him, rest in his embrace, in his shelter, wanted to linger in his warmth, wanted his velvety baritone soothe her nerves. She could not wait to see him again, to sink into his nearness again, to touch him again.

Mary was hesitant in her awkwardness. But there was no way to talk around the subject. "Well," she started nervously, "I think…he said.. he will not come. He wants you to be here on your own."

Margaret was wide awake instantly, panic and incomprehension on her pale and thin face.

"What?" her voice was still so weak and frail, and now in distraught also. In the absence of that one person in the whole world who was able to provide the security and protection that she stood in need of now, in the absence of anything else to hold fast to, she made her small fists grip the blanket tightly.

"I do not know, Margaret. I do not understand it, either. Really. He has asked me to take care of you, to stay here day and night." Mary's voice spoke of her nagging doubts, of her uncertainty. "He has arranged for a young lass, Annie, to be available as well, for lending a helping hand in case of need, for running the errands. He said it is important for him that you are not alone in the house at any time. And then there is also Harold, Annie's brother. He is here for the security, says Mr. Thornton."

Mary Higgins felt uncomfortable having to explain what she did not comprehend herself.

And then, remembering the instructions Mr. Thornton had given her, she continued, "I go and get you something to eat and drink. But you have to stay in bed. Please promise."

Margaret nodded absently. Why was John leaving her here all by herself? He had always been so caring, almost sensing her wishes and needs in advance. Why had he chosen to stay away, now that she needed him so badly? She could not make sense of what was going on.

Mary returned quickly with some slices of bread and a decanter of water and offered her the meager meal.

'_Bread and water' _that thought crossed Margaret's mind, 'food for_ a prisoner'. What a _peculiar situation it was.

But Margaret ate and drank as she was told, reluctantly, though. But with every bite she took, she realized how hungry she was, how good the taste of plain bread was.

"Can I have some more, please?" Margaret asked but Mary shook her head.

"It is not good for you to eat too much for the moment. It might churn your stomach. You have to get used to food slowly." Mary smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry." And after a short embarrassing moment, Mary continued, "You should try to sleep now. In the morning you can have more."

Mary was relieved that her friend's condition seemed to improve but she also noticed the worries and fright on that pale face with the sad eyes circled by dark shadows.

Go to rest again? Margaret doubted that she could but then she fell asleep quickly. Her dreams were a wild turmoil of her life, of the people she knew, of a stern but also scared looking John, but also of a caring John holding her gently in his embrace, soothing her, caressing her as only he would, while his mother was lurking in the shadows.

When she awoke in the morning she was still alone in her bed, with half-remembered bits and pieces of her dreams inside her head. She had to gather the fragments later, putting them together again, making it one picture, making everything whole again.

Mary was already standing in the bedroom, smiling.

"Good morning, Margaret. How are you? I am glad you are awake now. Let me open the window."

She pulled back the curtains and unblocked the window. For once, the sun was shining but the air was fresh. Margaret instantly drew the bed sheets higher. Mary hastened to provide a thick woolen blanket to shelter her friend from the cold.

"Your breakfast will be ready in a minute, Margaret. I'll go and get it."

Indeed she returned a few moments later, carrying a tray. The first thing Margaret recognized was a small vase with a single thornless red rose. Though she was still weak and dizzy, a happy smile rushed over her face, made her eyes sparkle.

Before starting with the meal she read the letter that lay beside the flower.

'_Margaret, my queen of hearts,_

_I love you._

_Please know, what I have done is meant to help you recover._

_Although I refused to see it all along, I am sensing it now deeply and I know almost for sure that your illness has sprung from Marlborough Mills and its people. So I made you go away from that place that you have always been afraid of. You have told me so over again but I have not listened, must have been deaf in my complacency. I have failed to comprehend and respect your fear. There appears to be more to it than meets the eye. I must have been blind but I promise I'll find out._

_I have moved you to your house in Winston Street. You have renovated and redecorated it so nicely. I immediately felt the warmth of that house when I entered it. It calms my guilty heart knowing that you are staying in that comforting place now. It will help you recover. I have no doubt about that. You will soon be at ease in Winston Street. In order to give you the rest and peace that you are in need of I have given instructions that nobody of my household will come to bother you. It is not impoliteness, but precaution. I want you to be detached from Marlborough Mills, entirely, I know this will help you recover. I am absolutely sure that you are on the mend already. That gives me relief._

_I feel guilty for having pushed you to tie yourself to me, to leave everything behind and to live here in this town that you never liked and in my house that has always frightened you. Once again, I was driven by my careless selfishness. I am deeply sorry for that. But now, I am going to withdraw myself and give you more free space for yourself, to be able to breathe and bloom again._

_Please know that the time I was allowed to share with you was the happiest in my life._

_I love you, you are in my heart for always._

_With the deepest and truest of feelings,_

_John"_

Margaret felt the deep-going emotion of that letter; but it also caused a stir of fear. Somehow, John was talking in riddles, but his mention of detaching her from his life sent shivers down her spine. Surely, she must have misunderstood his words, she soothed herself, her sickness over the past days had made her mind work incoherently. He would not want them to separate, would he? She folded and enveloped the letter again. No, she dared not read it a second time, pressed it to her chest briefly and then stowed it away in her bedside locker.

Her initial appetite, hunger even, had vanished. Mary noticed that she was only picking at the food.

"Is anything wrong, Maragaret?" she inquired with an anxious face.

Margaret shook her head absently, "No, no, everything's quite fine," she lied

Later Mary helped her take a bath which was enriched with thyme and lavender oils that literally worked wonders. The aching in her bones and muscles from lying in bed for so long vanished. After lunch the young women took a walk in the garden, rested on a bench in the sunshine. The fresh air helped reviving Margaret's senses but also made her drowsy again. So after an early dinner she went to sleep, still exhausted, wanted to clear her mind but soon fell into a deep and relaxing sleep.

* * *

Mary was just busy cleaning the dishes when Annie, the lass who was helping her, announced that Mr. Thornton was waiting at the back entrance.

"Come in, please, Mr. Thornton." Mary ushered him in while drying her hands in a towel. "Marget is upstairs, she has already gone to bed. The day has tired her, but I am so happy that she really appears to be on the mend, she is returning to life." She gave him one of her rare smiles.

John was relieved about the good news, would have wanted to storm to Margaret's room and take her in his arms. He could barely restrain his desire, had to call on all his self-control. So he stood there, his body upright, almost stiffly, his head slightly bowed, inhaling deeply through his nose, holding his breath for a moment. He was relieved from a burden.

"Fine. After all these days of worry there is a change coming. Thank God." He was happy like a child who had been bestowed richly on Christmas morning. "Tell me what did she say? What did she do?" He tried to squeeze all available information from Mary.

At last, and a bit nervously, he inquired, "Has she left any message – for me? A letter, a word?" He was frowning in his uncertainty, his eyes were pleading.

But Mary shook her head in denial. Her embarrassment and sadness showed when she realized Mr. Thornton's disappointment. She had started to like the mill owner already a while ago. He was so unlike the others of his peers who were only paying attention to the profit their mills would yield whereas Mr. Thornton was, in fact, caring for his workers. She could quite well understand why her friend had fallen for him, he had a good nature and was moreover very handsome. Margaret had been very lucky, indeed.

"Oh, by the way," he observed absently, "I have arranged with the post office that my wife's mail will be delivered directly to Winston Street. So there will be caused no delay."

John Thornton lowered his head and moved to go, but then turned halfway back thanking Mary for attending Margaret with so much dedication. "I thank you once again for your help Mary, I know I leave my wife in good hands, you are taking good care of her. I have explained already that I want to have her detached from Marlborough Mills and all its people. I therefore think it would be best for Margaret, for her recovery that you don't tell her that I dropped by."

"Of course, if you say so, Mr. Thornton. Margaret is my friend and I would do anything to help her overcome her disease. So, if it is the right thing to do I will not tell her." It was obvious, though, that she could not really comprehend the reasons behind his words.

She glanced after him as he left, watched that strange picture of a man who had just heard the good news that his wife was on the way to recovery, after a peculiar illness and yet he appeared to be sad and broken.

Mary stood there in the door frame, her eyes straying after Mr. Thornton as he disappeared in the foggy darkness of the cold night.

* * *

Margaret recovered quickly. Dr. Davidson who had come regularly was satisfied with the result of his examinations. He had been worried as he had been unable to help, he still had no clue what had overcome her but now things were changing to the better. He was relieved.

At times the young woman was going through Mr. Bell's personal papers that had been found in a wooden chest while renovating the house. She was relieved that there were no important documents or hints that needed her immediate attention. There were old music notes, a worn out book of fairy tales, and some other relics of his early childhood in Milton. But on the bottom of that chest she found an old diary, written about 23 years ago. She had not considered Mr. Bell to be a person to keep a diary. She stowed the leather-clad notebook away for the moment as she was not really inclined to read it. It would have been an intrusion in her late godfather's very private and intimate life. She would have to consider what to do with the diary later.

Most of the days Margaret was busy in the house, reading her books, playing Mr. Bell's old piano. At times Margaret took a walk in the vicinity of Winston Street, there was a road leading away from the smoky town towards the coast. She was then accompanied by Mary and followed by Harold. He was a tall and strong young man and apparently had a kind nature. Margaret did not feel disturbed to have that quiet person on her tail.

When she came home after her walks she sat by the fireside, reading a book, having her afternoon tea. She was freed from Marlborough Mills, felt her strength and energy returning, felt like the earth that was blossoming again in springtime. But there was also a part in her that felt almost like a deadstanding tree, disabled and incacable in movement, like a plant that had not endured a harsh winter. The centre of her life was missing.

She had not heard from John since that letter that he had sent already some days ago. The rose had withered meanwhile. Margaret had attempted to have it dried to keep it as a memory but it had been too late for that already or she had not done it properly. In any case, the flower had wasted. She was sad about that mishap but on second thought she was more concerned to realize that she was trying to preserve memories as if they were all that would be left for her.

And she was afraid of calling on John at Marlborough Mills, was afraid of writing him a letter herself. According to her understanding of her husband's lines he wanted her being detached from him. He did not want any contact whatsoever. It saddened and disappointed her bitterly.

Along with the approaching winter, the days were getting shorter, icy winds washed over the landscape. The temperatures were falling, at times they reached the freezing point already. The leaves of the trees were long gone. Who would suppose the numb and brittle branches of the trees to blossom and bloom again in the following spring? But they would, no doubt. Whether Margaret would blossom and bloom again she was not sure of. As much as the earth was in need of the warmth of the sun she was in need of John's warmth and shelter. But he had taken that from her.


	22. Chapter 22: Post Scriptum

**Chapter 22: Post Scriptum**

The wedding gifts and cards had remained unattended so far and called for Margaret's attention and response. Now that she had recovered from her illness almost completely and now that she was practically living on her own she had enough time to pass, enough time to take charge of the thank-you letters, finally.

One of the first boxes she had unpacked was the one she had received from Amanda Smythers. The box was marked '_fragile'_ and she unwrapped the gift carefully in order to retrieve its contents: two small snow white porcelain swans that were placed on an even plate sculptured like the bank of a lake. It appeared as if the birds were floating in the shallow water, were facing each other and were thus forming a heart-like shape, as if they were in courtship. It was a most lovely and peaceful sculpture; Margaret was fascinated by its simplicity and gracefulness. Looking around where to place it best, she finally put it on the window sill of the drawing room. She glanced at it for some moments, a small smile on her face, pondering about Amanda's thoughtfulness for having chosen that present at a time when her future with John was still so very promising, was still looking so bright and hopeful.

Finally, Margaret sat down and with a deep-drawn sigh started to read the accompanying letter.

_'Dear Margaret,_

_certainly you are wondering about the present that I am giving for your wedding._

_It is old and used._

_I have received it for my own wedding long ago and placed it on the window sill of the drawing room. I found it most charming. T__wo swans in courtship, putting their heads together, thus creating the form of a heart. It was symbolizing how my husband and I felt for each other._

_But as it is happening in all marriages, at times, there are dark clouds gathering on a blue sky._

_Once, we were in disagreement about something, I do not even recall what the trouble was about. Anyway, both of us were hurt, could not reach the other anymore or would not want to. You should know the two of us had our share in stubbornness. That night we broke up in bad terms. I went to bed in my own room, alone, there was no 'sleep well' or 'I love you' as usually whispered by my husband. Nothing came from my part, either. The night was horrible. Then the next morning – my husband had already left – I retreated to the drawing room and my gaze came to fall on the figurines. The swans had been rearranged; I did not know before that they could be moved, at all. The birds had changed places, had turned their back on each other. It seemed they were leaving, were moving on. I was startled when realization dawned on me. I did not want that to happen. Instantly I rearranged the figurines, made one of the swans turn again. When my husband came home in the evening he was stern in demeanor. His day must have been dreadful, like mine had been. His first glance strayed to the sculptures. He hesitated briefly, crossed the room in a few long strides towards the window. Then he turned the other swan around as well. The symbol of love had been reinstalled. I stormed into his open arms and he caught me in his loving hug. _

_Sometimes love only requires a close nearness, the gentlesness of a touch, sometimes love requires no talking. Neither of us said a word. We were holding each other gently in a tight embrace, silently, knowing that we had escaped from falling apart. Later we were able to talk our problems over._

_Today, I would like to pass the figurines on to you. Even if you and your husband appear to be on the sunny side of your love life now, there might gather some clouds on the horizon someday. In order to overcome those troubled times you might find the present useful._

_My dear Margaret, I have seen the light of an ardent and honest love shining in both of your and your husband's eyes. Keep it alive. May the lovebirds help you on your way to shelter and treasure what you have found. And remember every single day of your life, that love is fragile but it is always worth fighting for._

_Take good care of you and your love._

_With my best wishes and deepest regards,_

_Your true friend_

_Amanda'_

Hot tears were running down Margaret's cheeks. Amanda's letter spoke of so much careful consideration and deep insight in life. And her words as well as the present were so right and so needed in that moment.

How she would have loved to have unwrapped the present with John at her side, reading those warm and true lines jointly with him.

But Margaret had not heard from him for days, had neither received a note nor a flower. His silence was almost wearing her down. His letter was still lingering in her mind, the hidden foretelling of breaking up was still in a rear corner of her head. There were so many hints in his lines that did not make sense to her, his talking of being detached from him was hurting her feelings more than helping her recover as he was suggesting. Being disconnected from Marlborough Mills, yes, with pleasure, but not from John. She wanted him back in her life.

In her foolishness she had refused him once, back then when she had been living in Milton for the first time. But when John had come to London, when all their misunderstandings had been cleared, finally, when he had proposed to her again, he had made her the happiest woman on earth. She had never seriously taken into consideration that their marriage could ever fail, had never thought of losing him again. Now she did.

Was he not aware that he was the only anchor she had in Marlborough Mills and in Milton? She had believed that he knew, but did he really? Had she really and clearly told him?

Being separated from him was hurting, being excluded from his life was unbearable, was like a cruel punishment only that she did not comprehend what the punishment was for. Though the contents of John's letter had come in riddles she had read it only once, surely it required a thorough reconsideration. But she was scared that rereading the letter would only confirm her worries, so she was postponing that task on flimsy excuses over again. But now, that her strength was returning and after having read Amanda's sensitive letter, she would have to concern herself with his message again. Surely, she would read it tonight before going to sleep, but not now.

She recalled that he was talking of giving her more space but she was lacking the meaning of it, entirely. How much more space did she need? She had sufficient of it. She felt free in his nearness, had dropped all of those ridiculous rules of etiquette that had confined her all of her life. When she was in public she played a role, of course, the prudish standards of propriety required that from her. But when she was with John she was free, was herself. And she had gained the impression that he had cherished her freed spirit of thinking and acting. Had she mistaken that appreciation of his? Had she assumed understanding where there was none? Had she been too forward?

Surely he did not want a wife who was acting stiffly, like a dead puppet on a string, did he? She could not believe that.

Something must have changed his view while she lay sick in bed. Or someone. All of a sudden a half-forgotten memory crossed her mind. Before they had left for Brighton Hannah had announced to fight for John, to win him back. And filled with consternation Margaret recalled that menacing look on Hannah's face that had clearly conveyed her readiness to fight for him - _by all means. _It dawned on her that Hannah must have taken advantage of the time when Margaret lay in bed, helplessly, unable to interfere, unable to defend herself, unable to fight back.

John had always been close to his mother, they had gone through the hardest time of their lives together. That had been binding them, for sure, and Margaret was well aware of their attachment, she fully understood that. But were those bonds so tight that they made John change allegiance now? Had his mother that much power over him?

Upon their return from Brighton, Hannah had been pretending to be caring for Margaret, was always so considerate, had been offering tea and biscuits. When she had to stay in bed, it had been Hannah who had nursed her, who had fed her and helped her drink and eat. Now, shivers raced down her spine remembering those moments when she had been alone with her mother in law. When she had been at her mercy? Had it been like that, really? Alone, at Hannah's mercy? Had Hannah possibly tried to do her harm? She was reluctant to believe that. But was there any other explanation for all that had happened? She would have to talk to John about that. But then she hesitated, pondered whether it would be a good idea to tell him about her suspicions. In fact she had no proof whatsoever. It might push him further away.

But why had John made her leave Marlborough Mills?

Margaret was desperate, yes.

But, no, she was not defeated.

She would stand up and fight for what she had found only recently and cherished so much.

She would fight, not only to selfishly satisfy her own needs in life but also, if not foremost, for John. She had gladly noticed how he had changed, how he had peeled off his sternness, had become unstrained in her proximity, had shown natural manners, had been laughing, had put a sparkle in his eyes to shine on her in warmth and gratefulness for having brought happiness into his life, a joy and satisfaction that he had not known before, for having freed him. Margaret wanted to see that bright light in his beautiful blue eyes again.

Pensively, she rearranged the figurines, undid the form of a heart, let one of the swans turn its back on the other. Yes, that looked exactly like they were standing in their life now, one of them heading towards a new horizon, and it was not Margaret who was about to leave. No, she was not prepared to accept that. She would fight for their love, only she did not know how.

Again, she delayed reconsidering John's letter, she was still afraid of what might be confirmed what was now a fear, only. Again, she shied away from her own courage that had just been born like a new star but that had been burnt up too quickly. '_Tonight_,' she appeased herself, _'tonight I'll read it.'_

Later that day when she was checking the mail, as always hoping for a note from John, she was disturbed to find a letter from someone whom she had not thought of in a long while and from whom she had never expected to receive word anymore. Peter Greywood had come back into her life, had surprisingly sent her a letter, and had, also surprisingly, already addressed it to her home in Winston Street. Holding the envelope in her trembling hands she was pondering whether she wanted to read that letter at all. But then she decided not to back out as a coward and to open it.

_'__My dearest Margaret,_

_Please forgive me. I cannot address you with your husband's name. It would hurt too much. _

_It took a long time for me to overcome my deepest feelings of shame. Yes I am ashamed of what I have done to deceive you so blatantly. To you it must seem as if I had backstabbed you. But that had not been my intention. Things had started to develop into a direction that I had not wanted to but I could not stop them anymore. I am bitterly ashamed about my weakness._

_After I had left you, after you had talked to me about your now husband, after having seen that warm light in your eyes that I would have wanted to see shining on me, I only wanted to flee from that place of my defeat that once had given me so much joy and warmth. I could not stand being near you but wanted to be alone with my selfish suffering. I felt devastated at being let down by you, wanted to lick my wounds._

_I was deep in thought and sorrow while on my way and all of a sudden I found myself at your old place in Harley Street just when your aunt had returned. You know that passing through Harley Street is only one way to return to my uncle's house. It had never been my intention to call on your relative there on purpose or to disclose anything to anyone of what had occurred between you and me. I just had in mind to greet your aunt politely and to head home. But she must have sensed my disturbance. To my shame I have to admit that she had been very successful in questioning me and to obtain a rather clear picture of what had happened. Please do not believe that it is now my aim to put any blame on Mrs. Shaw. It had been me who had betrayed you._

_In the evening, I received her message informing that she might have good news. She requested me to come and see her despite the late hour, and I hastened to Harley Street without delay. She told me to have brought you to your senses, apparently. And she asked me whether I intended to ask for your hand in marriage. Of course I did and she invited me to her house for dinner to take place the following night and to officially announce the engagement. She put some pressure on the whole affair and observed that as long as Mr. Thornton would be around it would be best to rush the matter and to arrange a fait compli quickly. You cannot imagine my grief and despair when, later the following day, I heard that those plans had to be cancelled. _

_As in the meantime my mother had wished to return to our country estate. I decided to accompany her and to stay there for some time, to give in to my grieve. _

_Upon my return to London I met a Miss Latimer, by chance on the occasion of a dinner party. While conversing with her it transpired that she knew you as she was friends with your sister in law. And she told me that in the meantime you had married that Mr. Thornton but that you are apparently not feeling well. You were suffering from a mysterious disease and that you had apparently left your husband, that you are now living on your own in Winston Street._

_I am deeply concerned about the developments. I am worried about your health and your well being. I will not be held back but travel to Milton to call on you personally, to check on your condition, despite the unfortunate way of our previous parting. You might consider me a sore loser, you might judge me very lowly, you might say that I have no right to ask you how you feel. Notwithstanding all that I take the liberty to look after you, dear Margaret. I apologize again for addressing you with your first name, but I still cannot overcome to address you with your husband's name. The hurt is still too deep._

_As a foreboding of my call I am sending you this letter. I will travel to Milton in the course of the following week and I pray that you will allow me to see you._

_With my deepest feelings and sincere regrets about my having failed you,_

_I remain, sincerely yours, and with my deepest respect,_

_Peter Greywood'_

She was touched by Peter Greywood's word, felt his deep remorse about what had happened. Likewise she was surprised to note how quickly rumors were travelling. To her dismay, Peter Greywood had been given to understand that she had left John and was now living on her own in Winston Street. Surely that conclusion would feed Peter Greywood's hopes to revive their relationship in a way that Margaret was reluctant to entertain. She would have wanted him to be a friend, a good friend who shared her love for music and art. But nothing more, not anymore. She would have to make that clear to him, no matter how her marriage would turn out to develop. She would have to choose the right words to tell him unmistakibly, without hurting him , how she felt, that there would not be a future with him, at least not in the way he seemed to be hoping for.

But then, she chided herself for being so anxious on considering an adquate choice of words for Peter Greywood. Was that really an issue of great importance in that moment? Now that her marriage was at stake?

At last, she was bent on doing what she should have done earlier. She went upstairs to her bedroom where she kept John's letter in her bedside locker, still. With trembling hands she retrieved it and held it in her hands nervously, put a kiss on the envelope before opening it, praying silently for a wonder to happen. Finally, she unwrapped the letter and unfolded it carefully as if it could break. After a short while of anxious pondering she started to read his words again, slowly as she did not want to miss a word. When she had finished, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. No, to her utter disappointment, she could not find any other meaning in the lines that had worried her already at the first time. She pressed the paper against her chest, holding her breath for a brief moment and then exhaled as she had to gather her strength. But when she was about to fold it again she realized what she had not seen before. The paper had been put together in a peculiar way thus she had overlooked a post scriptum. Her heart was beating wildly while she took in the additional lines.

_'__P.S:_

_Yes, indeed, my heart, being married to you had been the happiest time of my life, so far. And I dare hope that it had not been all, that there will be more happy times for me and you to come, for us to come, if only you wanted to as well. My love for you is unmeasureable, you know that. I would not know how to go on without you by my side. Yes, I have decided to not bother you, from my side. And I sincerely hope that I will be strong enough to follow my own foolish rules. But if you want to see me, if you send me a note, if you give me a word I will be flying to you.'_

Margaret's heart was thumping in her chest. Why had she been so foolish to overlook the post scriptum? She was reading the additional lines over again, sighing and sobbing, feeling the tension deep inside finally fade.

She quickly prepared a note for John, hastened downstairs and made Annie deliver it to him personally. But the lass came back alone, frowning.

"What is it, Annie?" Margaret questioned her impatiently.

"Well, Mr. Thornton is not there. He is away on business and will not return before tomorrow night, they say."

"Oh no, how unfortunate," Margaret exclaimed, "but the letter, what about the letter?"

"I am sorry. You said, I was to deliver it personally. So I still have it here." Annie stammered, retrieved it from a pocket in order to hand it out.

"No, no, Annie. Keep it. Go to see Mr. Thornton the day after tomorrow and deliver the letter then, without delay, early in the morning. Give it to him and nobdoy else."

Like a spoilt child Margaret was slightly disappointed that John was not available right now. But on second thought she realized ruefully that he was not to be blamed for being away. She herself had made that silly mistake to overlook the post scriptum in the first place. But her nerves were on edge now, she could not wait to see him again, explain her stupidity, wanted to right what she had done wrong. She realized that she had worried for nothing in the end, at least as far as the relation between John and herself was concerned. But it must have hurt him deeply. She must have hurt him deeply.


	23. Chapter 23: Heading For New Horizons

**Chapter: 23: Heading For New Horizons**

Four days until Christmas Day.

When John returned from his last business travel of the year, it was late in the afternoon. He had come home earlier than planned.

Upon his arrival, he decided to pay a visit to Winston Street, hoping to obtain some news about Margaret. He had sent her away, yes, it had been his idea to detach her from him, from Marlborough Mills, yes. And he was missing her, more than he had believed someone could miss somebody else. Deep within he had hoped that she would call for him, soon, after he had made her go, but she had not. He was disappointed and hurt. Yes, he had given her the option to choose between being connected or being disconnected, but selfishly he had assumed that she would not wish to distance herself from him for too long. With each day that she was refraining from giving him word, his feeling of self-worth was fading. He did not comprehend why she was acting so coldly, so denying, why she was keeping him at bay, keeping him away as if he meant nothing to her.

Though it was a long way to Winston Street he decided to take a walk. He had been on the train for a couple of hours and his legs needed some moving now, his mind needed some fresh air for sorting things out.

It was cold, winter was coming, there was no doubt about that, anymore. While on his way, it had started to snow slightly. A thin blanket of white was already covering the streets and the pavements, the houses and the gardens; peace and repose had come across the earth. The Christmas season was always the time of year when he himself was able to settle down, when he would find his peace of mind, would be able to distance himself from any disturbances, no matter how hard he had been working in the months before in order to keep the mill going. This year it was the same.

But as far as his own life was concerned, everything had gotten out of hand, entirely. He had always been a private man, had commenced opening his heart to Margaret, finally, had been so utterly satisfied in his gladness to have found her and to share his life with her, to let her in to his every thought and wish, but somehow he had lost what he had gained, by sending her away. He wondered what Christmas would be like this year, he was scared thinking of it.

In order to avoid the snow blowing into his face, he had lowered his head. With one hand he was holding his hat tightly. Under the prevailing weather conditions it would have been wiser if he had taken a carriage, he chided himself. But it was too late for that now. Finally he turned into Winston Street. When he approached Margaret's house, he was startled to notice a carriage waiting there. He lifted his head in bewilderment and paused briefly, worrying about the reason.

Grief-stricken, he recalled the day when Margaret had left Milton almost a year ago. It had also been snowing when she had gotten into a carriage that had taken her away from him, finally. A sudden fear was spreading deep inside. She would not, would she? But then he was aghast to realize whom the vehicle was waiting for. In quick strides, Peter Greywood, a stern look on his face, was leaving Margaret's house and was getting into that carriage. John watched the scene open-mouthed. He felt a pang of jealousy race through his body, anger and even defeat were rising also. His old rival was the last person he had expected to catch sight of in Milton. What had he come here for? Why had Margaret allowed him admittance to her house? Had she possibly asked him to come? He was at a loss to fathom what was going on here. He felt a pain as if being cut with a knife while standing vulnerable and defenseless.

John paused for a moment trying to calm is frayed nerves. The bitter hurt of being deceived raced through his body. Sadness and disappointment flooded his mind. He hung is head in resignation and then, gathering what was left of his selfcontrol, turned on his heels to speed home. The news he would supposedly get to hear in Winston Street would be wearing him down. He could not stand that. He felt betrayed.

He walked all the way back home to Marlborough Mills, his strides decisive and long, his thoughts straying. It had escaped him that the first snow of the year had melted away, the snowflakes had turned into rain.

* * *

The following morning – he had just entered his office in the mill – he found Annie waiting for him. He was startled and worried likewise.

"What is it?" he enquired in plain language, ignoring even the lower limits of good behavior.

"Good morning, Sir," Annie replied, intimidated by his harsh welcome, "I have …. Mrs. Thornton has given me a note to deliver to you, personally, she said."

With that she gave him Margaret's letter, bowed and left.

John stood motionless for a moment, holding that letter in his hands and recalling the picture of Peter Greywood leaving Margaret's house. He was afraid of reading her note. What was she going to tell him now? All that time since she was living in Winston Street she had not cared to contact him, but now that Peter Greywood had come, she did. Was she informing him that his old rival had returned?

John recalled that day in summer when he had found Margaret's first letter that had been hidden from him for a long time, that he was afraid to read, that he was still keeping in the inner pocket of his coat. Back then he had even considered to never open it. But then his senses had returned to him, luckily. What if he had not read her lines that made him finally travel to London? So, it would be a cowardice again or perhaps a foolishness to refrain from reading the note he was holding in his hands now.

Slowly, he sat down, prepared for the worst but hoping for the best. Exhaling deeply he opened the letter and read the only line 'Come fly to me.' He turned the paper to check whether there was anything else written down on the back. But there was not. Had he not seen Peter Greywood leaving Margaret's home the night before, he would already be on his way to Winston Street. But now he was reluctant to comply with her request. Only for a moment, though. He mustered all his courage and hurried to Winston Street.

* * *

When he entered the drawing room his thoughts strayed back to the day when he had been here for the first time, on that day when he had made Margaret move from Marlborough Mills to Winston Street. He had felt a warmth in that house, then, a strength that was giving comfort, a hope that things would turn to the better. Now he could not recognize any of those intense impressions any longer. Now he had brought his own fears and worries with him that were weighing heavier, were drowning out everything else.

While waiting for Margaret he let his glance wander around the room, let his gaze linger on the decoration, on a bouquet of red roses that was placed on a small table, near the window. He knew where those flowers were coming from. On the window sill he viewed a sculpture of two swans, both had turned their back on each other. A bitter smile rushed over his face when he comprehended the meaning. Finally, his eyes wandered to the piano. How he missed listening to Margaret playing it. But those days were long gone. On the closed lid of the piano he recognized the book that Margaret had bought in Brighton, - _The Lady of the Camellias by Alexandre Dumas, son_ -. He advanced towards the piano in order to take that book in his hands, touching the cover gently, letting his fingers glide over it like a caress.

A rustling sound of fabric announced that someone had entered the room. He knew it was Margaret. Slowly and pensively he put the book back on the piano lid. He waited for a couple of moments and, taking a deep breath, he turned around. He had not seen her for so long. She seemed to be smaller and thinner, was pale and so fragile, so vulnerable, her eyes were red, she must have cried. But she had put on a small smile to hide her pain. She had folded her hands in her lap, was holding tight to a handkerchief. He was startled by her view and stared at her, whether there was any emotion in his look he could not tell, he felt dead inside.

Both were waiting for the other to say something, anything. Neither of them did.

There was no touch, no kiss, no intimacy that lovers would usually exchange when meeting again after having been separated for so long.

Finally Margaret started to speak. There was insecurity and frailty in her voice.

"This book here," she motioned her head to the novel that John had held in his hands moments ago, "I love it so much. You surely will remember that I bought it while we have been on our honeymoon in Brighton."

Both of them were hurt when being reminded on the happy and carefree time they had shared.

"It's about a young woman," she carried on nervously, "well, about a courtesan who lives in Paris. A young noble falls in love with her, wants to marry her. But his family is against their liaison as they consider it scandalous; they fear it will lead to his ruin. His father contacts the young woman, he realizes that she loves his son truly but he succeeds in making her see that their illicit love will destroy his son's life. Reluctantly she gives him up and resumes her old way of living….It is a rather sad story, John, it is so heartbreaking, it made me cry a lot while reading it. Though it is full of sadness and despair I love this book the most, I cannot tell why. I dare not put it away to find its place on the bookshelf, to stow it away into oblivion. It has touched my soul deeply. So I have decided to have it placed here on the piano, as part of my life, so I see it every time I pass by or sit down to play. It is important to me." She hesitated briefly. "Can you not help me, John? I think you know what I mean to tell you, what I want to suggest. Help me, please, I cannot do this alone." Her voice was merely a sad whisper now.

Keeping her countenance was almost beyond her power.

"She suffers from tuberculosis leading her to an early grave," he continued retelling the story, pensively.

Hearing his voice after such a long time made her shiver, sent tingles down her spine, made her weak at her knees. But that was a sensation that was not wanted anymore.

"When her death is near, " John carried on in a rather numb tone of voice, "the man learns about the sacrifice she has made for him but it is too late for them to start anew. Why have you left that part out Margaret?" there was a painful tremor in his now hoarse voice. "Mary told me that you are on the mend. You are no longer ill, after all, are you?"

His worry for her was evident. Every fibre in his body told him he should get closer and take her in his arms but then he refrained as he saw her denying look and her stiffened attitude.

"No, no, of course, not. I have almost recovered, I am not ill. But that part of the story is so unimportant, John, their story ended when she had sent him away."

And after another tormenting silence, she continued, "So you have read the book, also?"

He nodded in affirmation and repeated, "Why have you left that part out, Margaret? That her senseless sacrifice did not help either of them? That it only shortened the time they were allowed to share? That part is so important. Why are you doing this to me, Margaret? You seem so dead sure to leave."

He paused again, pondering over what she had told him, over what he was aware of and had witnessed the evening before.

"Is there nothing that might hold you here? Not one tiny little thing?" - _'Or someone,' _he did not have the courage to ask that aloud.

She faltered and replied, her voice meek and insecure, "Surely, there are many things that would be suited to hold me here, but there are also so many reasons that make me want to leave and never come back." Again her voice was a mere whisper, she felt uneasy, not knowing how to get out of the quandary.

"Name me one thing that would hold you here, Margaret, only one thing, I beg you," he insisted.

"I cannot, John. It would not make my decision any easier."

"But if that is not possible, then pray name me one why you want to leave, one thing, Margaret, one damn little thing. Is that too much to be asked? Perhaps it would help me understand."

"I cannot, John. Grasp that, please."

The image of Peter Greywood, coming out of Margaret's house the night before flashed through his mind again, tormented him endlessly. John was now convinced that Peter Greywood was the reason for her intention to leave. He was dead sure about that now. So at the end that decadent dandy from London had won.

For a brief moment he stood motionless in a painful stillness, at a loss to react, but then he moved to close the gap between them. But she held her hands up in denial, "No, don't come closer. Stay away from me. I do not want to be touched by you anymore."

Her words hurt bitterly, felt like a slap in his face. He stared at her in disbelief, felt shivers run down his spine because of her coldness.

Finally she carried on, her head lowered to glance on the floor, "We both have rushed into this marriage, we should have waited, as it is the custom. Maybe I would have come to the conclusion early enough that our relation is illicit. But my craving for you made me do things, made me want things that are not appropriate. It is all in the blood and I have to pay for it. It is tragic that I might drag you down with me. So, the sooner we get divorced the better for you. Whatever reason you want to name for my failing you, I will accept it. I will not oppose, I will take the blame. I will disappear, go back to London and find some way to earn my keep."

John was startled, was at a loss to see sense in her words. Was there yet another reason for her intention to leave? One that he had overlooked so far?

"What is that nonsense about? Have you gone mad? I do not understand the meaning of what you are saying, now."

He ignored her "Stop!" stepped forward and gripped both of her upper arms, shaking her fiercely, almost violently to make her come to her senses. His knuckles had turned white from his tight grip. The tendons on the back of his hands were tense, the veins swollen and showing through his skin. Her arms would suffer bruises, no doubt. But that was the least worry he had in that moment.

After a while she started to cry. Before breaking down he caught her tightly in his embrace, pressed her head against his chest and caressed her gently.

"Now, Margaret, what have you been trying to tell me? I have missed the sense of your words, entirely."

He led her to a sofa and they both sat down, her head still leaning against his chest, still crying. He gave her the handkerchief that she was still holding in her hand to help her dry her eyes.

"Can you please explain yourself?" he reminded her, nervously, a tense tremor in his voice. Patience had never been one of his better qualities.

"Well, how to start. Apparently you know nothing. Your mother…"

"My mother told me once something about 'it is all in the blood' but I must admit I am at a loss to understand what you both are referring to."

"Yes, at times your mother dropped some hints suggesting that…," she was in search for words, "that my father was not my father. Her hints were not explicit so I ignored them. But last night I found proof for what she had been referring to. So I finally understood. My mother had often told me that she and my father had married out of love so I could not imagine that she had betrayed my father. But somehow they also had been acting so stiffly towards each other. Do you remember that couple whom we met on our way back from Brighton? Did you not sense their devotion to each other? That was love, John. I never recall anything like that when I think of my parents. And then when I moved in here I found a chest with Mr. Bell's personal papers. Last night I perused the diary that he had left. It had been written about twenty three years ago. At first I was hesitant to read it but then my suspicious mind made me intrude into his life. Pray God will forgive me. From what Mr. Bell has confided to his diary he had fallen in love with his friend's wife, that he had been craving for her ever since they had met, that he had been struggling to give her up for the sake of his friendship. But finally he and the woman had given in to a short-lived romance but guilt-stricken they had ceased their relationship, he had kept his distance, had only exchanged letters with his friend giving flimsy excuses for not meeting them. He had been appointed a professorship in Oxford soon after. Though there is no mention of any names, nor of a child, it could be, John, the timeline would fit. And then, when I think of my father I do not see any resemblance, neither in looks nor otherwise. But Mr. Bell's talent and love for music is worth mentioning I think. Obviously I share the same love and talent for music. And furthermore, I have inherited everything that he has left. John, I am an illegitimate child. If this were spread in Milton, if it were known that your wife is a bastard it might ruin your reputation, it might ruin you. You know these hypocrats. And your mother obviously knows, that is the reason why she hates me so much. She cannot accept that her son has fallen for a tainted woman like me."

John rubbed the bridge of his nose, shook his head in disbelief.

"What a weird story, Margaret. There is no proof whatsoever, it could be but it hasn't to be, necessarily. I admit there are some coincidences, but coincidences prove nothing. And _if_, and I repeat and stress _if, _you are right what would it matter, what would it change? My love for you is irrevocable, I told you and you can rely on that. I really do not care who your father was, it is you whom I love no matter who sired you."

He rose and paced the room up and down and continued, after a while, "But that is not the only reason why you want to leave, is it? Margaret we have to go through this now, even if it hurts, is there is anything else that is darkening your mind or your heart? You must tell me. Has it anything to do with me? If I have done anything that offended you, it had been unintentionally. But you have to tell me, Margaret be honest. Tell me the truth, please. Is there any other reason why you want to leave?" His voice was but a desperate whisper, again recalling the image of Peter Greywood as he had left Margaret's home the day before.

He walked over to the window, let his eyes stray down to the figurines that were still turning their backs on each other. He was tempted to move one of the swans but then he refrained.

Meanwhile Margaret had regained her poise. As John's reaction to her words had sunk in, she felt her senses return. He did not pay any attention to what Mr. Bell had written. Maybe John was right and it was of no significance what she had found out. Apparently it would not lessen his esteem of her. She felt relieved. Her crying was cut down to no more than some small choking sobs. She walked over to him as he was standing at the window, straight but stiff. She put her hands softly against his back, leaned her head against it as well. "Take me in your arms please," she whispered, "I am drowning in my loneliness, John. Help me."

He slowly turned around and let his sad blue eyes sink into hers, "Is there anything else you have to tell me?" he insisted.

Margaret looked up to him with a quizzical look.

"No, not now, John. I need you, I need your touch. Don't deny that. Please."

She leaned in to him, pressed her head against his chest, inhaling his spicy scent. She could not remember when she had smelled that fragrance the last time.

But John stood there, motionless, he could not bear to embrace her like she wanted, like he himself was craving for; instead he had set his eyes on the bouquet of roses. Every single blossom, beautiful and wonderful in itself, was a triumphal victory, confirmed his defeat. He lowered his head balancing his temper. He did not want to leave her. Why could she not soothe his nagging doubts?

"Well, Margaret, if there is nothing else you might wish to tell me, or feel obliged to tell me, I will now return to the mill. I had been away for two days and I'm afraid I have to clear off the backlog, now."

"No," she exclaimed, "you cannot leave now, you have just returned." Her face showed her fear of losing him again. "Why would you want to? What have I done wrong?" Margaret was desperate again, now that her future with John had been looking bright and promising again for a moment, after he had appeased her only minutes ago.

"Once, we have pledged to be honest with each other." He wispered sternly, his voice indicated how badly he was hurting. He glanced at her with a painful look on his face and then left.

There was no touch, no kiss, no intimacy that lovers would usually exchange when going.


	24. Chapter 24: What Will Happen, Now?

**Chapter 24: What will happen, now? **

Two days until Christmas Day.

In the morning it was chilly and cold. Overnight, the temperatures had fallen below the freezing point. The snow that had come down during the night would last. Nature had provided a perfect timing since the following day would be Christmas Eve. The white blanket that had been unfurled across the land and houses was softening down all sounds and noises; there was a magical stillness in the air. The lights provided by the street lamps and the houses were reflected by the snow crystals, were intensified by the snowy white linen that was covering the yesterday. Everything appeared to be calmer and brighter, at least in the early morning hours, before the town would awake to the cheerful bustling activity of the shoppers who would be under way for the last purchases and the groups of carolers strolling through the streets, playing their violin and singing their Christmas carols.

After a nearly sleepless night that had been filled with worries and doubts John roused with aching bones and a weary mind. He felt guilty and ashamed of having left Margaret in uncertainty. Once again his temper had gotten the better of him. He had talked at her extensively, in a long-winded and most probably confusing way. Why had he not simply asked her _'Why was Peter Greywood here?'_ Surely, a plain enough question to be answered, and also a plain enough question to be asked, in the first place. He soothed his burdened mind, that he had , at least, been able to appease her doubts regarding Mr. Bell's diary. But a bitter smile crept across his face when it dawned on him that he had actually only exchanged one problem with another. How stupid he had been again! Risking everything they had found at the beginning of their marriage. She had never given him any cause for his distrust. To the contrary she had seemed to be so glad with him. The fire of her emotion, the fire of her love had not been a make-believe, he had sensed it with every fibre of his body, and yet he was going to destroy it now by his morbid but ill-founded jealousy. He had sensed betrayal where there was none. He had to straighten his foolishness before it was too late.

Notwithstanding the early hour he was bound to pay Margaret a visit. In order to save time, he intended to take a carriage and hence he sped to the station next to Marlborough Mills. On his way he met a rather disturbed Dr. Davidson.

"Good morning, Mr. Thornton," the doctor addressed him with a slight nervousness

"Good morning, Dr. Davidson," John replied curtly, "I am sorry, I am in a hurry. You don't want to call on me, do you?" he enquired, a sudden fear for Margaret's health was rising, made his face pale instantly.

"Yes, but no, I have come to call on Mrs. Thornton, well, your mother, to be exact."

"Oh, I see. But my mother does not live here anymore. Has she sent for you? Is she ill?. She is now living at Fanny's, you know."

"Well, then I will visit her later. In the meantime I will go and check on one of my other patients who is living here in this neighborhood." Dr. Davidson replied pensively, "Do you mind of if I accompany you a short way?"

He turned to join John who was heading in long strides to the carriage station. While walking they were holding a rather telling conversation.

At last John reached the station and got into a carriage to take him to Winston Street, however, with a side trip to the Watson House.

Fanny welcomed him when he entered her house. She was rather surprised to see him at that time of day.

"What makes you rise so early, John?" she enquired a bit mockingly but then turned serious and continued in a hushed voice, "I hope you come to take mother back. She is really getting on my nerves, you know that? She behaves as if this is her household, she is no help, she interferes constantly and is turning everything upside down. John, please take her back." She still knew how to put that girlish smile on her face as if asking for a sweet.

" 'morning, Fanny. Where is she?"

Fanny was taken by surprise.

"Oh, I know that tremor in your voice, John, there is trouble coming with you. What has happened?"

"Fanny, where is she?" his patience had waned entirely.

"Well, she is in the sitting room. This way." She motioned with her hand in the direction and was about to proceed to that room. But John pushed her aside, rather rough and uncourtly.

"I'll find it. Leave us alone." His words were curt and decisive. He passed her by, annoyed. And lacking all good manners he opened the door without knocking as politeness would have called for. He stormed in and shut the door behind him, a bit too loudly though.

Hannah was standing at the window looking out.

"We have to talk. It is serious." John was furious, he could not hide his anger, did not even want to.

His mother glanced at him, surprised and frightened at the same time.

"About what, John? What makes you look so rough and strained?"

'_As if you wouldn't know,' _ unsaid words were running through the turmoil of his mind.

He breathed deeply and put every effort in balancing his temper. At last he spoke in a voice that was still tense but for the moment he could not offer anything better.

"I have just met Dr. Davidson," John commenced, "He asked me about your state of health." he watched his mother with squinted eyes. "So, how are you feeling?"

"I am feeling fine, John. Why?"

"And what about your wakefulness?"

"Everything is alright, John. Why all these questions?" her attempt to appear unstrained failed completely, she was nervous and uneasy.

John continued in a rough voice, "Dr. Davidson told me that you have requested him to prepare a sleeping draught, already some time ago. I have not known before that you are in need of such a potion."

She hesitated briefly and responded, "Well, at times it is not easy for me to come to rest at night…and then…"

"Oh, stop that, now! Spare me your lies, your falsehood," he exclaimed. There was an edge to his voice that gave her a start.

"Dr. Davidson said that you had never before required any potion like that." He paused briefly and continued heatedly, "I do not have any proof whatsoever but I tell you here and now and straight into your face that you have used that sleeping draught to poison Margaret."

There was a moment of utter silence, only the ticking of the mantel clock was heard, time was running out.

"Have you taken leave of your senses? Do you grasp in the slightest what you have done?" he flushed with anger.

He stared at her, wide-eyed, shaking his head in disbelief. Somehow, he was still at a loss to comprehend what his mother had been capable of.

Her hands were holding tight to her handkerchief, as if that piece of cotton could provide aid or grant relief in that evil awkwardness.

But her demeanour was not that of a rueful sinner, she did not bow down with grief. Instead she stood there in a proud erectness, her head held up high, her eyes focused to the floor, not in shame though, but in a stubborn arrogance.

"Well, you say you have no proof but I will not deny it, John. However, if you expect me to say that I am sorry, I must disappoint you. I am not." She paused for a moment and then continued, "I do not dislike Margaret as a person, but the moment I saw her I knew that she would bring trouble, would become a threat for me and for you. I realized that she would take you away from me. That was something I could not allow, of course. I thought that when Margaret would be sleeping it was as if she were not there. We both, you and me could go on like before, without her interference, without distracting you."

John had listened in agony. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. His mother had turned around to look out of the window, to watch the snow flakes hovering and then finally falling down to the ground.

After a while John continued, coldly, lacking all emotion, "Dr. Davidson told me that by a mishap the potion was mixed stronger than intended, possibly too strong." But then his temper was rising again, "Did it never occur to you that you could have killed her? Did that thought never cross your mind? What kind of woman are you? I cannot recognize the mother in you anymore that you once had been, who had tried everything to get me and Fanny out of the misery we were in. You were fighting hard but with honesty and dignity. But somewhere on your way you must have lost that. Now I see but a ruthless and unscrupulous person."

He faltered for a short moment, before continuing with an unsteady voice, "I do not know what will happen to you now that you have fallen so low. You always said how much you loved me how much you wished happiness for me. But then, when I had found it finally, you had almost succeeded in destroying it with all your viciousness or should I say with all your madness? Yes, it must be madness that has driven you to do what you have done." John was infuriated.

"Don't be ridiculous John. I might have overreacted but that was surely not caused by madness."

"You might be charged of your evil and criminal misdeeds. Do you grasp that at all?"

"It had never been my intention to harm her that way. You should be aware of that. I wanted to get her out of my way, John. That's all."

"To – get - her – out – of - your – way? That is attempted murder! Do you comprehend at all what that means?"

His mother was still standing at the window, pretending to look out watching the winter scenery. Her thoughts were straying to memories that had been stored in distant corners of her mind, had been hidden from the world but were not forgotten. Finally she continued speaking, more to herself, though.

"When your father had chosen to break away from his responsibility towards his family, towards me and you and Fanny, I was all alone in the world with that immense burden of debt and shame. I knew that he had speculated wildly, I knew that he had followed a risky scheme that had been set by Mr. Bell. That oh so honorable and famous son of Milton had a sense for making money. And your father was following his schemes only that he had been losing everything, and did what he did since he could not bear the shame of his failure. Whereas, less than a couple of months later, Mr. Bell had made an immense profit out of that speculation. But your father's time had been running out before, the bankers were not prepared to wait any longer." She raised the handkerchief to press it against her nose, was silent for a short moment while John's cold eyes were on her.

Finally she continured, "And then I heard about some rumors concerning Mr. Bell, that, many years ago, he had betrayed his best friend with his wife, they said he had an illegitimate child even. But nobody cared about the rumors in respect of his betrayal or his dark side risking money. He still remained that honorable son of Milton. And then his friend of old, that unfortunate parson from the south came with his family to Milton. With that illegitimate daughter in tow who had come to take you away from me. Can you imagine what that meant to me? What else could I do? " Almost unheard she sighed while John glanced at her, speechless, listening to her confession. But her words and reasoning did not reach his heart.

He was disgusted about what he had just heard. He felt dead inside, wanted to leave and never see his mother again.

"What will happen now?" she finally asked, uncertainty in her voice.

"I do not know, and I do not care," was all that John could muster to respond. He turned around and left.

Of course, Fanny was waiting outside the door, had obviously overheard what had been spoken in the sitting room. John looked into her horrified pale face. Fanny had always been simple-minded but she had never been an actor, at least not a good one, so surely she had not known anything about her mother's misdoings.

"What was that, John?" her voice was trembling.

"You have heard it, I assume," he said dryly. "Go in and take care of her, Fanny. I think she needs you, now."

"But, but,….but she's a monster, John." Fanny exclaimed, the tone of her voice a bit exaggerated.

"She is your mother."

He took his hat and left. The carriage was waiting and he headed for Winston Street.

On his way he tried to clear the things he had just heard from his mother, the perfidious and treacherous scheme she had ruthlessly worked out and meticulously set in motion. Fanny was right, she was a monster. He remembered the doubts that had been nagging at him when Margaret had lain sick in bed. But he had not wanted to give in to his waking fears, had been afraid of having his suspicions confirmed. He shivered at thinking that he had risked Margaret's well-being, possibly her life. So, he had failed her again.

When he arrived at Margaret's house, he was nervous. Before knocking on the front door he listened to the noises that were coming from inside. Yes, the house was alive. He heard Mary's voice giving some instructions to Annie. He had wished to hear Margaret playing the piano, but to his disappointment, she was not.

Hesitantly he knocked and after a short while, Mary opened the door, looking up to him, surprised and somehow relieved to see Mr. Thornton again. She had been worrying that he might not come again. Mary and Annie were busy decorating the house for Christmas. The hallway was filled with open boxes containing all kinds of Christmas decorations that the two young women were distributing everywhere.

With a shy smile on her face, she welcomed him, "Good morning Mr. Thornton. Come in please."

"Good morning, Mary." He walked in and disposed of his hat and gloves, put them on a small table in the hall and cleared his throat.

"Your wife is upstairs, Mr. Thornton. I will go and tell her that you are here. Please wait in the drawing room, meanwhile."

With that Mary left while he proceeded to the drawing room. The day before he had also been waiting in that room. Again he let his eyes stray around and linger on the various decorative objects. The book was still lying on the piano lid, the roses had been taken away and were replaced by an elegant bronze Christmas angel. The figurines on the window sill had been moved. One of the swans had been turned around to view to the center. Before he was able to approach the window, he again heard someone enter the room. Again it was Margaret. Again he turned around slowly to face her. Again she looked pale with her eyes still red from crying.

"I think I know now what you meant with _being honest_, John. But I have not been dishonest, at least not in the sense of my understanding of that word. I have realized that the roses on that table there have disturbed you. Yes, they were from Peter Greywood, I think you have assumed that already. He had heard rumors that I might have left you. He had written a letter announcing to call on me. And he had come to see me the day before yesterday and had offered the flowers. Apparently he was attempting to revive old times. But I told him clearly that it was not possible, that there is only one love in my life, and if I were to lose it there would never be space for anyone else. I believe he understood. I have not told you because his visit was somehow so insignificant, for me at least; I had other problems to solve. Had you asked me whether he had been here, I would not have denied that, of course. But for me it was of no importance in that moment, but it was surely not dishonesty that made me not mention it. You should never doubt my feelings for you, John. I have started to love you and I cannot stop anymore, like the engraving in my wedding ring - it reads: John & Margaret, but there is no date that sets limits, there is no beginning and there will be no ending. I have given you my heart, long ago, you are holding it in your hands now. It is yours and I cannot give it to anybody else," she paused, pensively, "And I cannot take it back. If you don't want it, you may as well tear it apart and throw it away. I only wish you were able to comprehend that, finally."

After another short pause, trying to retain control over her emotions, she continued, "I have disposed of his flowers, meanwhile, though they were certainly so beautiful. But it would only grieve me to look at them, now. And to avoid any misunderstanding, it would hurt me not because of him, but because of _you_ as it would cause _you_ sorrow. It had never been my intention to wound you, John," she paused again taking a deep breath and carried on, "I still have his letter upstairs. If you want I will go and fetch it so that you can read it, so that you can see that what I said is true, that I am not hiding anything."

Her words had touched him, he could not deny that. Before he could respond, Margaret shushed him, "Please, listen, I have not finished yet. After you have soothed my fears concerning Mr. Bell's diary I felt relieved from the tension, from the fear. You know how it feels when you awake from a nightmare. I felt the same. I was in need of being comforted by you, at that moment, I was overwhelmed by my desire for your nearness, for your touch. But you have denied me that, John. It grieved me and it still does." She paused again, frowning, trying to word her feelings clearly. "What I have learnt from that, is, that lovers may be in disagreement, may be uncapable to reach each other by words, or are drifting further apart by the wrong choices. But, John, being unable to talk is one thing, denying nearness is yet another. That is not incapability, that is torment. I beg you to never do that to me, again. So, in order to complete my little speech, I want you to appreciate that I had my share in hard times, I do not want that anymore. I want my share in happiness and I am intent to fight for that, John Thornton."

Margaret raised her head and looked at him, bound and determined, but also with a touch of insecurity. John saw a wetness in her eyes that made them sparkle. He inhaled deeply, the turmoil in his head cleared away, slowly, enabled him to think coherently, again. She had reprimanded him, had given him a lesson, and he admitted that he had deserved it. In a few strides he closed the gap between them, raised his arms to embrace her but hesitated, reluctantly, and took a step backwards again.

"Margaret, you shamed me," he said sternly, "I understand that it had been foolish to leave that way, yesterday. I understand that I should have simply asked you why Peter Greywood had come to call on you. Instead I accused you of being dishonest. You should know I have seen him leaving your house the day before yesterday and my jealousy had been eating at me ever since. You know me and my temper. I am deeply mortified of having mistrusted you. You have never given me any reason to believe that you might betray me or that you were intending to leave. Margaret, please forgive me for having wronged you again."

His eyes were pleading while he watched her coming closer, hesitantly. She looked straight into his face, not saying anything. He embraced her tightly, pressed her head gently against his chest while she was wrapping her arms around his waist, finally indulging in the shelter that she had been seeking for the day before already, sighing in sheer contentment as she felt the tension in her fade.

Sometimes love only requires a close nearness, the gentlesness of a touch, sometimes love requires no talking. Neither of them said a word in a long while. They were holding each other gently in a tight embrace, knowing that they had escaped from falling apart.

"I love you, Margaret," John whispered in his velvety baritone and he felt that she was breathing deeply in return as if she was inhaling his words.

"I know, John, I know. I never doubted that. And you should never again doubt my feelings for you. I love you, John," she replied, smilingly.

He took her hand and led her to the window sill with the sculpture of the two swans. He removed the one that was still on its way to leave and turned it around. The symbol of love was reinstalled. He looked at her shyly, still ashamed, his gaze was met by a pair of warm eyes. They were holding their glances for a long time, connecting again.

"Margaret," he whispered after a while, "One part of me is in high spirits, so are you. I am so glad that we have cleared the misunderstandings between us, that you are forgiving me the studidity. But there is still a very serious issue at stake. Something that has been haunting us for quite a long while now..."

Seeking for the proper words to explain himself, he dragged her back to the sofa, made her sit down beside him, wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

"Don't talk to me in riddles again, please," she said anxiously, not knowing where this was leading to.

"Well, though it is not easy to tell you what is preying on my mind, there is no way to wrap nice words around the truth. So, I will tell you bluntly now: the reason for your sickness was - that my mother had drugged you, Margaret." His voice was unsteady and no more than a whisper. "I am mortified, I am ashamed at what she has done," He exhaled deeply as soon as the painful truth had left is lips. He sensed how Margaret winced at his words that were only confirming what she knew already but what she had not wanted to believe, for John's sake. But now that those words were said aloud, she shuddered with horror.

"I am done with her," John continued after having calmed his temper. "It is hurting, though." He was hugging her tightly as if Margaret were the only thing that was left in his life; and she was indeed.

Margaret was speechless for a while, pale and shocked, absorbed in incoherent thoughts and hurting memories. Her own suspicions had been confirmed.

After a while she asked in a low voice, "Tell me how you found out."

And John told her the whole story without excusing anything.

After he had finished, they cuddled up to each other even closer and were following their own train of thoughts.

From the hallway they heard the hive of activity created by Mary and Annie who were still busy decorating the house for Christmas. Life was moving on around them.

"What will hapen now?" Margaret asked after a while.

"I do not know, Margaret. I have told my mother that she might have to face prosecution for her misdeeds. I would not hold you back if you were to press charges against her, I would support you, of course," he observed in a low voice.

Margaret was pensive, frowning, weighing the options, making up her mind. Finally she took his hand in both of hers, holding fast to it. He was again her anchor giving her security and she clinged to it, tightly.

"I do not want to return to Marlborough Mills, John, well, not to the house, I mean. Can you understand that?" she asked in a steady voice.

He nodded, "Oh, yes, I do. You would always be haunted by the memory of what has happened to you there. I could not stand that, either, Margaret," he responded.

A small smile was creeping around Margaret's lips when sensing his understanding.

"Well, you might judge me foolish, but I do not want to bring a charge against your mother, John," she looked up to him, to verify the expression on his face. He was surprised, took a deep breath as if he intended to reply, but then he refrained listening to her further explanation, "If she were any other woman I would not hesitate, I assume. But she is your mother, and I do not want to do that to you. You have already suffered so much when you had to realize what she had done. I do not intend to make public what she has done, for your sake, John. You say that you are done with her, I believe that now, and so I am. But dragging her doing out in the open would not go past your feelings. I would not stand seeing you hurting. John."

She looked down on their entwined hands and lifted her glance slowly to meet his eyes. He was speechless, was reflecting on what Margaret had been saying. He was done with his mother, yes, but she was his mother still. He was amazed at Margaret's generous attitude.

"You shame me again, Margaret," he whispered, loosened his hand from her grip and embraced her gently.

"Well," Margaret replied, "I do it for your sake, John. I trust you know that." She paused again and then carried on, "But my decision comes at a price. I said already that I do not want to go back to the Thornton House. Please don't force me to live there again, I beg you," her voice had turned unsteady again, "I want to live here, this house gives me ease and comfort. It is here where I feel safe and cosy." She dared not look up, only when she felt the knuckles of his hand glide gently across her cheek, she could muster the courage. His eyes were sparkling, and warm, and kind and loving.

"I will not force anything on you, love. As I said, I do comprehend your resentment towards that house, and if it is your wish to live here, I will certainly not object, but my consent comes at a price as well."

"What is it?" Margaret asked, frowning.

"That I am allowed to move in here as well."

His eyes were pleading in a way that only he could, that sent a prickle down her spine, a sensation that she had missed so much.

"I'd like nothing better than that, John. I think I am home now, finally and forever."

And she leaned into to his chest, breathing deeply, inhaling his scent, feeling comforted in the warmth of his gentle embrace.

Yes, she felt home, she would now be able to take roots.

"Come," she said suddenly, rose from the sofa, holding fast to his hand, dragging him with her. "I am going to show you around.

John was amazed how quickly she had swallowed the reason behind her sickness, how quickly she returned to being the Margaret he knew and adored. The Margaret whom he loved and cherished.

"Wait," he said gently.

He took her in his arms, pressing his forehead against hers. Slowly he neared his face towards hers, touched the tip of her nose with his tenderly, then let his nose drift slowly towards her cheek until he finally claimed her mouth for a soft kiss. Their intimacy was so new again, so needed. He sensed her soft body leaning in to him. Soon their kissing was not soft any longer but heated and demanding. He had cupped her cheeks in both of his hands, holding her tight, never wanted to let her go again. Her tiny hands had already found their way through the various layers of his garments, he wondered how she was able to make her fingers reach his belly so quickly, to let them glide around his naval, prickling his sensitive and warm skin there, making him groan in anticipation of her further caresses.

"Margaret," he stammered, panting for air, "don't do that to me. Don't seduce me like that here in the middle of your drawing room. If someone were to see me here, dishevelled and aroused, I would become the tittle-tattle of Milton. Have a heart! Please."

"Then let go of me," she teased.

"Never," he replied, moaning in delight, trying to get control over his body, but in vain.

Meanwhile she had turned her hand around, was touching him with the back of her fingers, allowing her to let them glide deeper.

"Margaret, no, please," his hoarse voice was begging, but she had no mercy, was continuing her sweet torment.

But finally, she complied, but only to wrap her arms around his waist, to press herself closer to him, to feel his aroused body.

"Come, I show you around," she whispered, softly, her cheeks heated, panting heavily. "Let's start with the bedroom."

**The End**


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